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CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Cap and Gown Series 

Cap and Gown in Prose 
Cap and Gown First Series 
Cap and Gown Second Series 
The Golden Treasury of American 
^ongs and Lyrics 

Poems of American Patriotism 

My Lady Sleeps 

Songs Ysame 

Out of the Heart 

Poems of American Wit and Humor 

Pipe and Pouch 

Through Love to Light 

The Two Voices 
From Queens^ Gardens 
Hymns of the Higher Life 

L. €• PAGE AND COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 

2J2 Summer St,, Boston, Mass. 



CAP AND GOWN 

IN PROSE 



^^oxi ^kziti)ZQ ^zlzttz'a from ^ntiersratixiatE 
Pniotifcals of l^ecEut gears 



EDITED BY 

R. L. PAGET 

EDITOR OF " POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM," 

" THE POETRY OF AMERICAN WIT 

AND HUMOR," ETC. 



r 



\J /UuCfMl^'t, 




BOSTON 
L. C PAGE & COMPANY 

(incorporated) 
MDCCCC 



TWO COPIES RECEIVBD. 
Library of <?«._ 

Office of til, "» 

•fUN 1 - 1900 

"'^'''T Of Copyrt,*,* 

SECOND COPY. 



62895 

Copyright^ igoo 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 



All rights reserved 



Colonial Press 

Electrotyped and Printed by C H. Simonds & Co. 

Boston, U. S. A. 



PREFACE. 

The editor of " Cap and Gown Second Series " 
reminded his readers, it will be remembered, that 
college verse must not be taken too seriously. 
The same thing may of course be said of college 
prose. But in the latter case there is small need 
of such warning ; only the Sophomore and his 
admiring sisters will regard with any degree of 
awe the " fortnightly theme "on " George Eliot 
as an Ethical Guide," or " The Classical Spirit in 
Arnold's Poetry," or will be fired with enthu- 
siasm for the society story and the tale of ad- 
venture adorning the pages of the " Lit." Prose, 
as ordinarily written, lacks those double advan- 
tages of verse, jingle and brevity. It is either 
good or fatally dull. 

Here is the difficulty which the editor of the 
present volume, who wished above all that his 
book might be entertaining, faced at the outset. 
How should he overcome the prejudice excited 
in advance by the word " prose "? 



VI PREFACE 

In the first place, it was plain that the selec- 
tions should be short. Moreover, they should, 
so far as possible, be concerned with scenes 
drawn from actual life. Finally, the point of 
view should be that of youth. 

If this aim has been carried out with even 
approximate success, these sketches are not 
without elements of unique value. Life as it 
now appears to the philosopher he can describe 
for us, but life as it appeared to him in youth he 
can hardly trust himself to picture. That this 
little book is representative of the best prose 
composition of American colleges its editor 
would hesitate to assert. Nor does he claim for 
the compilation that it represents the relative 
merit of the English departments in various 
colleges. It aims to entertain ; to suggest the 
college atmosphere and the college point -of 
view ; to remind the graybeard of the days when 
campus, gridiron, diamond, track, " Prom," and 
grind were words which stood for things that 
made up a large part of his real world ; and, 
finally, to show how near in some instances the 
natural portrayal of simple things in the fewest 
words may approach originality. 

It has proved unavoidable that some colleges 



PREFACE Vll 

are much more fully represented than others. 
Certain undergraduate papers seldom publish 
short prose contributions. A number of college 
periodicals, which have only one or two selec- 
tions to their credit, might stand among the 
most prominent in the book if the ability they 
expend on long descriptions were turned in the 
direction of *' kodak shots." The colleges whose 
English departments make the most of daily 
theme courses are naturally much in evidence 
in a compilation of this character. 

In some cases papers are not represented, or 
are represented by fewer selections than might 
be desirable, because complete files had not been 
kept or were unattainable. 

It is possible that some readers will discover 
the " college man " of their fancy to be an idol 
of clay. The editor can reply only that he has 
given a picture of the student photographed by 
the student himself. His excuse is the truth 
of the portrait. The typical undergraduate is 
addicted neither to vice nor to virtue. He is no 
longer a child, but he is certainly boy all over. 
Merry and light-hearted rather than flippant, 
frequently an encyclopedia of slang, always fond 
of playing jokes on his comrades and sometimes 



Vlll PREFACE 

of outwitting his professors, his whole creed 
honour (which he insists on defining himself), 
— he is after all very lovable and unspoiled. To 
object to him is to find fault with human 
nature. 

The compiler returns hearty thanks to the 
editors and business managers of the different 
papers for their numerous courtesies. With- 
out their generous cooperation the book would 
have been impossible. He would also thank Mr. 
F. W. C. Hersey, of Cambridge, Mass., Mr. B. 
S. Monroe, of Romulus, N. Y., and the Libra- 
rian of the Dartmouth College Library for the 
loan of files of college magazines in their pos- 
session. 

Boston, Mass., May i, 1900. 



COLLEGE PAPERS REPRESENTED. 



Amherst College . . . 
Baltimore, Woman's 

College of 

BowDoiN College . . . 
Brown University . . 
Bryn Mawr College . 
Chicago University . . 
Columbia University . 



Amherst Literary Monthly. 



Cornell University . 



Kalends. 

Bowdoin Quill. 

Brunonian. 

Bryn Mawr Lantern. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

Cohmibia Literary Monthly. 

Columbia Spectator. 

The Morningside. 

Cornell Magazine. 

Cornell Widow. 
Dartmouth College . . Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 
Hamilton College . . Hamilton Literary Magazine. 
Harvard University . Harvard Advocate. 
Leland Stanford Uni- 
versity Sequoia. 

Mass. Institute of Tech- 
nology Tech. 

Michigan University . Wrinkle. 
Mount Holyoke Col- 
lege ....... The Mount Holyoke. 



X 



COLLEGE PAPERS REPRESENTED 



Pennsylvania, Univer- 
sity OF 

Princeton University . 

Radcliffe College 
Smith College . . 
Trinity College . 
Tufts College . . 
Vassar College 
Wellesley College 
Wells College . . 
Wesleyan University . 
Western Reserve Uni- 
versity . . . o . . 

Williams College . . 
Wisconsin, University 

OF 

Yale University . . . 



Red and Blue. 
Nassau Literary Monthly. 
Princeton Tiger. 
Radcliffe Magazine. 
Smith College Monthly. 
Trinity Tablet. 
Tuftonian. 
Vassar Miscellany. 
Wellesley Magazine. 
Wells College Chronicle. 
Wesleyan Literary Monthly. 

College Folio. 

Williams Literary Monthly. 

Wisconsin ^gis. 

Yale Courant. 

Yale Literary Magazine. 



CONTENTS. 



After Sunday Comes Monday 
Alien, An . 
Alpha and Omega . 
Arcady Farewell ! 
As It Was in the Beginning 
As Old as May . 
At Mott Haven 
At the End of It 
At the Game . 
Augury of the Birds, The 
Bane and Antidote . 
Bargain, A . . . 
Believer in Class Spirit, A 
Cambridge Episode, A 
Cat the Queen Stroked, The 
Chance Acquaintance, A . 
Chapel .... 
Child Sketches . 
Choice, A. Part One 
Choice, A. Part Two 
Chronicle of the Exam 
Christmas Dream, A 
Cigarette, A . . . 
Class Day Convert, A 
Clever Miss Vandeveer, The 
Cold Bluff, A . . . 
College Revery, A . 
Comedy, A . , . 



Vassar Miscellany 

Vassar Miscellany 

Morningside 

Yale Literary Magazine . 

Cornell Magazine 

University of Chicago Weekly 

Harvard A dvocate 

Sequoia .... 

Wrinkle .... 

Yale C our ant 

Wiscojisin j^gis 

Williams Literary Monthly 

Trinity Tablet ... 

Harvard A dvocate . 

Yale Literary Magazine . 

Tech 

Bryn Mawr Lafitern 
Harvard A dvocate . 
Princeton Tiger 
Princeton Tiger 
University of Chicago Weekly 
Princeton Tiger 
Cornell Magazine 
Harvard A dvocate . 
Hamilton Literary Magazine 
A m.herst Literary Monthly 
University of Chicago Weekly 
Columbia Spectator . 

xi 



PAGE 
214 
123 

57 
104 
205 

61 

139 
127 

4 
200 
224 
263 

35 
208 

158 

41 

262 

17 
20 
23 

igg 
2gi 
III 

193 

180 

lOI 

233 
265 



195 

8o 

150 

151 

281 

S3 



Xll CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Complete Athlete, The . . . Yale Courant .... 94 

Contentment Wells College Ckro7iicle . .183 

Conversation, A . . . .A mherst Literary Monthly . 217 

Conversion of Fredericks, The . Harvard A dvocate . . . 227 

Corn-cob Pipe, A . . . . Wisconsin ^gis 

Cousin John Red and Blue 

Dangerous Room-mate, A . . Harvard A dvocate 

Dead Broke Harvard Advocate 

Decision of a Moment, The . . Morningside 

Divine Aid Yale Cozirant . 

Dream of Fair Women, A . . Wesley an Literary Monthly . 48 

Duets Williams Literary Monthly . 261 

Economy University of Chicago Weekly. 71 

Exhibits in a Trial of Hearts . . Wrinkle 105 

Fable Williams Literary Monthly . 103 

Fable of the Two Men and the 

Pomegranate .... Princeton Tiger . . . 133 

Filibustering Father, A . . . Colujnbia Literary Monthly . 258 
First Conversation: Across the 

Fence Yale Literary Magazine . . 62 

First Time, The .... Harvard A dvocate ... 67 

Fortunate Foursome, A . . . Yale Courant .... 168 

Founded on Fact .... Williams Literary Monthly . 278 

Freshman Enters the Debate, The . Wrinkle no 

Freshman's Ideal, The . . . Wesleyan Literary Monthly . 231 

From a College Man's Journal . Tuftonian n 

From the Heights .... College Folio . . . .270 

Girl Correspondents , . , . A fnherst Literary Monthly . 285 

Girl in Blue, The .... Harvard Advocate . . .13 

Glimpses Radcliffe Magazine . . . 289 

Golf and a Bracelet .... Brunoftian 172 

Hazing of Sammy, The . . • Smith College Monthly . . 147 

Her Key University of Chicago Weekly . 247 

Her Moral Downfall . . . Red and Blue .... 44 

His First Race University of Chicago Weekly. 74 

His Last Appeal .... Dartmotith Literary Monthly . 220 

How I Recovered .... Harvard A dvocate . . . 258 

In June Brtenonian 178 

In Perspective Harvard A dvocate ... 29 

In the Afternoon Car . . . Bryn Mawr Lantern . . 72 

In the Car University of Chicago Weekly . 204 

In the Reading-room . . . Harvard Advocate . . .251 



CONTENTS 



XIU 



In the Shell . 

Inklings . 

Jeems Miller's Coortin' 

Johnny 

Letter Home, A 

Little Tommy Atkins 

Love of Lop-Ear 

Lunches . 

Magazine Story, A 

Man from Yale, The 

Metamorphosis . 

My First Boat-race 

My Freshman . 

My Old Room . 

New Term, The 

Observations 

Of Passing Moment 

Old Man . 

On a High Stool 

" On Linden " . 

Overheard— In Arcady? 

Philosophy at Twenty-one 

Poor Little Reginald 

Postmaster's Story, The 

Progress of the Crews 

Proprieties, The 

Queen, A . 

Ready 

Reminiscence, A 

Scene: Dinner, etc. . 

Scene on a Kansas Ranch 

Seen from the Road . 

Sentinel and a Substitute, A 

Shooting of Barrows, Freshman 

Short Conversation, A 

Smoker, The . 

Stray S5m3pathy, A . 

Sweet is True Love . 

Swimming Race, A . 

That Babington Affair 

Those Teas and Things 

Three 



,The 



Harvard Advocate . 


7 


The Mount Holyoke . 


156 


Wesley an Literary Monthly 


8S 


The Mormt Holyoke . 


65 


A mherst Literary Monthly 


92 


Wellesley Magazine . 


237 


Sequoia .... 


253 


College Folio 


246 


Vassar Miscellany 


50 


Tech 


144 


U7iiversity of Chicago Weekly 


141 


Momijigside 


69 


Smith College Monthly 


275 


Harvard Advocate . 


185 


Kalends .... 


152 


Princeton Tiger 


88 


Harvard A dvocate . 


97 


Nassau Literary Moftthly 


• "7 


Harvard A dvocate . 


236 


Morningside 


8 


Harvard A dvocate . 


132 


University of Chicago Weekly 


• 177 


Williams Literary Monthly 


243 


Wesley an Literary Monthly 


222 


Cornell Widow . 


161 


Amherst Literary Monthly 


107 


A ■mherst Literary Monthly 


137 


Harvard Advocate . 


I 


Cornell Magazine 


2 


University of Chicago Weekly 


212 


Wells College Chronicle . 


150 


Wesley an Literary Monthly 


252 


Red and Bine . 


190 


Dartmo2ith Literary Monthly 


122 


Harvard A dvocate . 


"5 


Yale Literary Magazine . 


164 


Wellesley Magazine . 


274 


Seqzioia .... 


166 


University of Chicago Weekly 


58 


Williams Literary Monthly 


88 


A mherst Literary Monthly 


14 


Cornell Magazine 


30 



XIV 



CONTENTS 



Three O'clock, A. M. 
Told by the Doctor . 
Two and Two . 
Two Dear Old Ladies 
Two Yards to Gain . 
Unavailable 
Un Chant D'Amour . 
Uncle Bill's Opinions 
Unexpected, The 
University 5 
Unplayed Trump, An 
Very Young Man, A 
Ways of Woman, The 
World's End, The . 
Yule-tide Happening, A 



PAGE 

Bowdoin Quill .... 239 

Tech ...... 129 

Momingside . . . .142 

IVesleyan Literary Monthly . 187 
Harvard A dvocate ... 40 
Yale Cotirant .... 134 

University of Chicago Weekly. 182 
Princeton Tiger . . . 235 

Brtmonian 39 

Harvard Advocate . . . 175 
Darttitouth Literary Monthly . 26 
IVr inkle . . • • -43 
. Dartmouth Literary Monthly . 272 
Wellesley Magazine . . .163 
Harvard Advocate ... 78 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Ready. 

"I SHALL say, 'Are you ready?' once; and 
then, if I hear no reply, I shall say, ' Go.' " 
The referee's voice sounds hollow and harsh 
through the megaphone. 

I take one last glance over my shoulder at 
the other crews. They are both set, vindictive, 
and strong, coiled beautifully with power to 
spring. The challenge of their attitude sets 
my teeth, and as I turn my blade square and 
deep in the water, and feel it snug against the 
thole-pin, with a tight grip of both hands for 
the wrench, the intolerable and consuming ner- 
vousness of the past hours goes from me. I am 
conscious only of a tingling in my temples, and 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



the sense of a great clearness somewhere above 

and before my eyes. 

Then Hke the voice of Fate, — 

" Gentlemen, are you ready ? " — 

I know nothing but the nape of 4's neck. 

" Go ! " 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Reminiscence* 

"Yale!" 

He was down at the start of the hundred 
yards, and his cry came with the crack of the 
pistol that started the four men down the cinder 
track toward the crowd with the hole in it at the 
finish. He had no business there. The Execu- 
tive Committee had expressly forbidden any 
such thing as coaching, and yet he was there, 
— he always is there, — and his shout had 
scarcely less of command, scarcely less of thrill- 
ing demand in it than the pistol-shot itself. 

It was a small thing, but, as the crowd pre- 
pared to swallow up the bare-legged runners, 
and the man who had shouted grew ridiculously 
excited, the lone Cornellian who had been stand- 
ing by turned away to saunter off across the 



1 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 3 

Oval with that stirring " YaleT' in his ears, and 
doing a deal of thinking meanwhile. How that 
boy must have felt ! How he must have heard 
it ringing in his ears, and felt it throbbing 
through his brain after all else was gone, in the 
dreadful weariness that was crowding on his 
breast ! Perhaps his mother was over in the 
grand stand, and some one with her who could 
point him out ; perhaps it was a big brother who 
had taken him by the shoulders that morning, 
had looked into his eyes, and had said something 
beginning, " Jack, old man," that had made him 
feel older all of a sudden, — had made him know 
that " brother " might mean more than he had 
ever felt before ; perhaps Somebody Else was 
there who had given him just a glance that had 
not made him think anything about sisters. 
Perhaps, but who can imagine what is in a boy's 
head ? Whatever it was, it was all gone long 
before he had reached the press-stands ; his 
heart was pumping " Yale ! " into his reeling 
brain. He ivill go faster. There is a great 
** Must ! " upon him. Faster ! Faster ! Ah-h-h ! 
And the man that caught him as his breast 
broke the string heard him gasp, " Yale ! " 
Well, he was a very foolish boy, of course, 



4 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

and his mother and his father and the rest 
ought to have been ashamed to be proud of 
him ; but that is not what was in the Cornel- 
Han's mind, as the shouts of the crowd struck 
back from the green hillside. His heart had 
gone back to Ithaca. He practised it over 
softly to himself, " Cornell ! " And he tried 
again and again to fancy it blending with a pistol- 
shot and transforming a bare-headed boy in 
white into a fierce, panting bit of the university. 

E. P. Andrews. 
Cornell Magazine. 

At the Game» 

Dora: Jack, is it the interference when the 
umpire interferes with the game, and makes 
them stop to catch their breath } 

Jack : No, Dora, it's — 

Dora: Oh, there they go again. That man 
with the red hair has got the goal, and is run- 
ning with it for all he's worth. There, they've 
got him down, and they've all touched him. 
Now is he a touchdown, dear } 

Jack (with emphasis) : Oh, no, you girls — 

Dora: There, Jack, see, wasn't that pretty? 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 5 

The man with an M on his perspirationer kicked 
the goal over that long pole between those 
sticks. Does he kick it half way from there, 
and do they call that then the half back, 
Jack ? 

Jack: Oh my, Dora, do keep still, there is 
Miss Hardy, of the Vassar eleven, in the 
next coach. I'm so afraid she'll hear you, 
and — 

Dora : Why, Jack ! What if she should ? Is 
she a Vassar player, really. Jack ? She'll have 
her hair all ready long, won't she ? I think I'll 
organise a society for playing football. Could I, 
do you suppose ? 

Jack (dolefully) : No doubt of it, Dora. 

A few minutes' pause. 

Dora : Is the captain that man in the Fedora 
hat, who runs with a cane every time they 
tackle } 

Jack : No, he's the umpire, dear. 

Dora : Are you sure, Jack } And the man 
with the stick of wood, is he keeping the score 
with notches ? 

Jack: Oh, Dora — 

Dora (rapturously) : There they go again. 
Oh, see there, there's that funny little duck 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



1 



who falls down first every time, the one who 
takes the football from the big fat man — what's 
he, Jack ? 

/ack (in desperation) : The official timekeeper, 
dear. 

Dora: Isn't it lovely to come to the game, 
Jack ? It's all so exciting, and when you've 
read up and know the plays, it makes it twice as 
interesting, doesn't it, you old enthusiast ? And 
I did it all for you, too. 

Jack: So kind of you, I'm sure, Dora. 

Dora (after the home team failed to kick 
goal) : Ha, ha, did you see that, Jack } Why 
didn't they all go for him when he kicked the 
ball } So stupid, everybody seemed to be petri- 
fied, and not one made a move. 

Jack: Oh, Dora, you never — 

Dora: Won't I, Jack.? I don't care, I just 
came to please you, and now you don't seem to 
appreciate what a martyr I am. 

Jack : Nor you what a martyr I am. 

Then there was another long pause, and dur- 
ing it Dora's lip trembled once. But, finally, 
the woman's old inquisitiveness came back to 
her, and she touched Jack's elbow. 

"Jack, just one more please, and then I'll not 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 7 

say another thing. What does the M stand for, 
Michigan or Minnesota ? " 

And Jack just caught himself in time not to 
say, " Mephistopheles." 

George Russell Barker. 

Wrinkle, 

In the ShelL 

For two hours we had sat in our shell in the 
midst of the rain. The swift-blown mist had 
soaked gradually through our sweaters, which 
hung on our shoulders like heavy bags. From 
my place at bow, I could see the water run in 
big, round drops down the back hair of Number 
2, and, gathering on the ends of it and on the 
lobes of his ears, drip slowly on to his shoulders. 
Even the oar handles were so wet that I rubbed 
my hand now and then down my wet sweater. 
We had quite got beyond the civilised wish for 
dryness. As we heaved back and forth, steam- 
ing and warm, we felt all the indifference to the 
rain of an out-door animal. 

Harvard Advocate. 



8 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



4( 



On Linden/* 



" The only connection I ever had with oratory 
in my college career," said Ned Jeffries, Colum- 
bia 'yS, to a group of graduates at the Chicago 
debate, "was through a course in declamation 
in my Freshman year. I came nearer to flunk- 
ing that course than any course I ever took in 
college, and that is saying a good deal. If it 
hadn't been for Phil Harkness, I should have 
flunked it. Each man was supposed to recite 
some piece or other four times a term. Some- 
thing had prevented my preparing anything the 
first time that I ought to have spoken, and Ben- 
son, who was giving the course, recorded a flat 
failure for me. 

" yhe next time I did not remember that I 
had to speak until I got into the room, when it 
was too late to prepare anything. To flunk that 
time meant a sure flunk at the end of the term. 
I had to say something. I thought of *The 
Charge of the Light Brigade,' ' Cannon to right 
of them, cannon to left of them, something and 
thundered.' I couldn't remember the rest. I 
had an idea that the ' Wreck of the Hesperus ' 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 9 

might do, and asked Phil if that wasn't the one 
where the captain * staggered down the stair.' 
Phil wasn't sure, but thought not. He suggested 
' On Linden when the sun was low/ but some 
one had spoken that every time, and, anyway, I 
only knew the first verse. Phil thought awhile, 
then he started suddenly. 

"a've got it,' he said. 'You go ahead with 
" On Linden." ' 

" * But I only know the first verse,' I ob- 
jected. 

" ' I'll see that you don't need any more,' said 
Phil. 

" ' But how — ' 

'' ' Never mind. You get up there and speak 
your first verse.' 

"Phil wrote something on a sheet of paper 
and passed it to the man next to him. The 
latter chuckled happily as he read it, nodded 
to Phil, and passed it on. 

" Well, I had confidence in Phil, so when Ben- 
son called on me, I went up to the platform, 
struck my finest attitude, and began : 

" * On Linden when the sun was low ' — 

"'Chestnuts, chestnuts,' came in Phil's voice 
from the back of the room. 



lO 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



"*A11 bloodless lay the untrodden snow,' 
went on, impressively. 

" ' Oh, give us a rest ! ' * Chestnuts ! ' 
'We've heard that before,' came from all over 
the room, Phil leading the tumult. 

" ' Iser rolling rapidly ' was greeted by a 
perfect howl. I had said all I knew, so I 
stopped, pretended to stammer a little and 
turned to Benson. 

"'It's very hard for me to speak, sir,' I said, 
apologetically, looking at the shouting class in 
front of me. 

" I knew Benson thought it beneath his dig- 
nity as a college professor to take any notice of 
a breach of discipline, so the only way that he 
could express his anger was by taking my side 
against the howling class. 

" ' Certainly, Mr. Jeffries, it is very difficult 
indeed,' he said, with an angry look at the 
class. ' You are doing remarkably well. Go 
on.' 

"That was just what I could not do. I 
began again. 



" ' On Linden when the sun was low 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow.' 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II 

" * Oh, dry up ! ' shouted Phil, and the uproar 
broke out again. It was, of course, useless to 
attempt to speak against it. I hesitated, stopped, 
and looked at Benson. 

"^That will do, Mr. Jeffries,' said he. ^Very 
good, indeed. It is disgraceful that you should 
be interrupted in this way. I will give you the 
maximum. The class is dismissed for to-day.' " 

J. M. 

The Morningside. 

From a College Man^s Journal 

At about eight o'clock of an evening you 
shut your yellow-back, light your pipe, and get 
into harness with the intention of doing four 
days' work in one. At nine you are in full work- 
ing stride, and the door-bell rings. You pay no 
attention to him as he enters. He carries an 
obtrusive fresh-lit cigar and an air of jaunti- 
ness that says, ** Ah ! Working 1 I haven't 
anything until next Friday." 

Conversation, except of the most vapid and 
unprofitable sort, is impossible. You aren't 
interested in hypotheses based upon the proba- 
ble victory of Tufts 2000 over Harvard. Work, 



12 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

too, is out of the question. He wanders around 
the house like a draught, — a ghastly, door- 
creaking, curtain-banging draught ; quiet, per- 
sistent, maddening. He dissolves somewhere 
in the kitchen and reappears with a coal- 
scuttle. " Let's have a fire, it's so cheerful, 
you know. No ? Work .-* Gad, man, it's fool- 
ish to work," and he resumes his mooning 
around, whistling tattered fragments of opera 
as he goes. You are reduced to a state of 
nervous coma in which you sit and watch 
him from beneath your green shade, furtively, 
fearfully, malignantly. 

Finally, at eleven he chances upon the open 
door, and after two or three unsuccessful 
attempts drifts out ; says that he'll call again 
when you aren't busy, and immediately re- 
appears at the window to tap idiotically, and 
say good night. 

We call him the last straw. 

The Tuftonian. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 3 

The Girl in Blue* 

" Ready ! " 

" Get set ! ! " 

" Bang ! ! ! " 

You are off like a rabbit at the sound of the 
dogs, and running Hke a whirlwind. You pass 
a number of men, a couple pass you. The first 
lap is run, and the race has settled down into a 
swift procession in which every man keeps his 
place. As you get around again, you notice a 
pretty girl in blue near the corner. Perhaps it 
is because of your red band, but she smiles 
slightly as you pass, and the next time you 
reach the corner, and the next. A bell is ring- 
ing, the signal that it is the last lap. You try 
to spurt, but your legs refuse to hurry faster. 
Ah! you started in too fast. A red jersey 
flashes by you, then another, then a blue one. 
Everybody is shouting. You stop. They are 
shaking hands with the man in the red jersey. 
They tell you you were about sixth. And the 
girl in blue, — how can you walk by her.? 
Easily enough, she is not looking at you at all. 

Harvard Advocate. 



14 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Those Teas and Things^ 

" Well, of all the stupid, uninteresting " 

These and some other words, which I do not 
care to repeat, profaned Philebrown's entrance. 
I laid down my pen at once. This was cheerful 
and enlivening. " Come in, Philly," said I, 
affably. " Have a cigarette, and confide your 
sorrows to this trusty bosom." Philly murmured 
something decidedly uncomplimentary to my 
bosom, but entered in a cyclonic style. Having 
banged the door, thrown his tile hat and his 
overcoat into a corner, and kicked over the fire 
irons, he subsided moodily into a chair. I for- 
bore to break the silence. 

Long acquaintance with Philebrown has given 
me a somewhat definite insight into his moods. 
He is a tall person, inclined to lankness, excit- 
able, but with a saving sense of humour ; on his 
guard immediately at an attempt to draw him 
out, but, left alone, confiding as a child. There- 
fore I held my peace and contemplated Philly. 

" I sha'n't go again," he finally burst out, 
regarding me defiantly. 

"Ah," I remarked, softly, "you have been 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 5 

once more to a tea Oh, yes, I'm listening ; 

go on." 

''Well, as I said, of all the uninterest- 
mg 

'« Humanity in the mass is always uninterest- 
ing," I murmured. 

'' How some fellows can go it week in and 
week out, I can't imagine. Why, it's — it's a 
sign of mental " 

" Have another cigarette, Philly." 

" Thanks. But as I was saying about those 
teas and things. You go and see a roomful of 
girls — pretty .? Yes, they're pretty enough, — 
of course a man likes to see a pretty girl — 
every one does, — but it reminds me of this pink 
and yellow candy in glass jars, — fearful sweet 
stuff, you know, and bad for the digestion. I'd 
rather chew sassafras root." 

Here Philly subsided again. 

" Go on, Philly," I entreated ; " this is beau- 
tiful. And from a college man — alas the 
day ! " 

" What I want to know is, what do you say to 
'em .? " demanded Philly, aggressively. " Aren't 
there any sensible girls ? I suppose a man must 
give receipts for rare-bit and fudge, whatever 



1 6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

that is, and babble about the weather, and giggle 
about the girl in the corner, or talk of the horrid 
professors. That's what they seemed to be 
doing for the most part." 

" Philly," said I, gravely, " I am a Junior and 
you are but a Sophomore. Hear me. There 
may be those who are interesting. I can't say. 
This much is so : lions and lambs do not as yet 
congregate together. A man dare not take an 
interesting homely girl to anything. She will 
have a disagreeable time in a corner. To be a 
social bluffer is an enviable distinction, but it 
entails much weariness of the flesh, much pass- 
ing over of intellectual deficiency, and an un- 
ending search for that rare bird, — the pretty 
girl." 

Philly was silent for a moment. 

" Well, I say," he began, " that a man's college 
is for men. I'd rather see a college full of good, 
honest sports, than a gang of fellows who swarm 
to dances like flies around a honey-pot. I had ! " 
he asserted, savagely. 

"You're an orator, a Demosthenes, a — Chief 
Justice, Philebrown," I interposed. 

" Look at the men who go over " 

"^Tut, tut, take another cigarette," said I. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 7 

"Well, anyway," said Philly, with a sigh of 
relief, "that's the way I feel about it, and if I 
ever have a girl, you can be sure of one thing, 

I sha'n't send her to " 

" Hush, Philly, old man, this is heresy, rank 
heresy. Come on ; there's the dinner-bell." 

E. B. Pottle. 
Amherst Literary Monthly. 

Child Sketches* 

The little boy crept up on my knee and sat a 
moment, pulling thoughtfully on my watch-chain. 
In the half twilight he looked very solemn and 
dignified. 

" How old are you, Johnny Tupper .'' " I finally 
remarked, as a means of starting conversation. 
H^is long lashes touched his cheek. 

"Oh, Ise pretty near seben," he replied. 

" Well, how near .? " I asked. " 'Bout five .? " 

His round, chubby face bobbed up. "Yes," 
he replied, with a frank little smile. 

For a moment he fumbled, half -bashfully, with 
the button at the top of my waistcoat, smiling 
to himself ; then he leaned his cool cheek close 
to mine and asked, confidingly : 



1 8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Say ! do people grow very much on their 
bhthdays ? " 

" Well, well," roared the old stage-driver, tuck- 
ing the robe around the little girl's feet, " goin' 
home, be yer ? I reckoned as much when I see 
yer ma this mornin'. What do you suppose I 
ketched her doin' ? " 

"What ? " said the little girl, looking up at the 
old man with a scared expression. Perhaps she 
was thinking of her own escapades in the pantry. 

"Waal," answered the old fellow, "if you 
won't tell yer ma I told yer, listen here." (And 
he leaned down so that his white beard was 
close to the little girl's ear.) " She was makin' 
cookies, Susan, cookies built like a S." 

In the middle of the slushy road, under a big 
elm-tree, we met a small child. He was busily 
clawing up the snow at one end of a puddle so 
as to make a dam ; and all the while he hummed 
softly to himself. We spoke to him, I think ; 
perhaps asked him our way ; but he could not 
answer. He gave us one glance out of big 
eyes, and went on humming, and scraping, and 
patting the snow. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 9 

The dirt-court glared with the afternoon's 
heat, and the two girls, who had been decoyed 
into game after game by their well-matched 
skill, were now well-nigh exhausted. A group 
of bare-legged pickaninnies watched the game 
with grinning interest. 

" My vantage," shouted the server. 

As the ball whizzed low over the net, the re- 
ceiver, with desperate effort, gave her racquet 
full sweep — the ball flew back, over the server's 
head, and down the asphalt street. One of 
the small darkies bounded after it, and the 
hot asphalt yielded under his footsteps like the 
cooled lava crust over a boiling volcano. He 
caught the ball, pocketed it, and walked away 
whistling. 

" Stop there," called the players ; " where are 
you going with that ball ? " 

The brown imp thrust both hands into his 
ragged pockets, as he turned and shouted : 

" Goin' to de devil ; wan' ter come along ? " 

Harvard Advocate. 



20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



A Choice: Part One. 

The whole thing began this way. As the car 
rounded the corner and swung into Fourth 
Avenue, Tim dropped off first. I came next. 
There was some joke or other among the fellows, 
and I suppose I wasn't noticing much where I 
was going. I remember that some one yelled 
at me, and that a copper on the corner waved 
his arms and started to run forward, and then 
something caught me behind the shoulder like a 
ton of brick, and shot me over the cobbles on my 
face. It was quite like bucking the interference 
in a Yale game, and what made it so real was 
that something went bumping over me just as 
the backs do when you get in their way. 

At the second bump, the stones against my 
head felt very soft, and I was wondering at 
this when all of a sudden I fell asleep. 

The next thing I remember was hearing 
Tim's voice. I can't recollect the exact words, 
but you wouldn't care to hear them if I could. 
I opened my eyes, and you may imagine my sur- 
prise at finding the ceiling of the Murray Hill 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 21 

above me. I couldn't begin to count the bell- 
boys and porters and clerks that stood around, 
but they irritated me horribly. Some one brought 
some kind of a stretcher thing, and laid it on the 
floor beside me. Then I went to sleep again. 

It was funny the way they changed things 
about. When I woke up they had made the 
office much smaller, and repapered the walls, 
and put in a bureau and the bed I was lying on, 
and lots of things that looked very much out of 
place. Tim and Jerry were sitting at the foot 
of the bed, looking out of the window. 

I remember Tim saying : " Well, this does 
for us when they try us through left guard, all 
right." Then both of them growled a bit and 
kicked their chair legs. " You've got to put 
Mugs in the game now," Jerry said. Tim 
growled again, got up and went over to the 
window. 

The door opened, and Billy the trainer slid 
in. " We've got to start in a minute, boys," he 
said, snapping his watch. They all turned to 
look at me, and when I cocked an eye at them 
they came over to the bed. " What's the game ? " 
I asked, huskily. 



22 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

They all three started to talk, and then 
stopped. Finally Tim said : " You've been 
broken up a bit, old man, and we've got to leave 
you here for awhile." He was not looking at 
me. Neither was Jerry. ^' And miss the 
game .-* " I asked. My voice sounded very queer. 
" Doctor's orders," said some one. 

I looked out of the window. It was a beautiful 
day — regular football weather. Then Tim took 
my hand and sat down on the bedside, and 
talked to me for some time in the way he has. 

" We'll get some one who's not on the team 
to stay with you," he said, finally, "and is there 
any one in New York we can send for ? " 

"I won't have anyone stay," I said; "and 
there's no one to send for." They all looked at 
me very solemnly. Then they shook hands with 
me. " Good-bye, me boy," said Billy. " Good- 
bye, old man," said Tim and Jerry, " till to- 
night." They went out. By and by a nurse 
came in. All the rest of the morning she sat 
by the window reading. 

The little clock on the bureau pointed to three 
o'clock. I knew what they were doing miles 
away. There was a big orange and black bank 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 23 

on one side of a field, and a blue bank on the 
other. Tim and a man in a blue sweater were 
tossing a coin in the middle of the field. And 
I should have been there, to run forward, and 
butt my shoulder up against some one and tear 
over him, and fall underneath the pile, and hear 
the whistle blow faintly above the grinding of 
leather. Instead of that it was some one else. 
I'd worked hard all year for it, and now it was 
some one else. It was pretty hard lines, wasn't 
it.? 

The nurse came to the bed. " Did you call ? " 
she asked. *' No," I said, and turned my head 
away. 

Princeton Tiger. 

A Choice: Part Two. 

There was a little knock on the door. It 
opened, and I give you my word my heart 
jumped clear up in my mouth. She was stand- 
ing in the entrance with a boa and a muff of 
gray fox, and the nicest little hat over her eyes 
— all alone. She looked frightened. 

The nurse went over, and they whispered 
together. She never took her eyes off my face, 



24 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

and I know I was staring at her with my mouth 
open. 

The nurse went out, and she came over and 
sat down beside me. I didn't say anything. I 
couldn't. Finally she said, " Poor Tom," but 
you can't get any idea just how she said it. 

" How did you know ? " I asked when I found 
my voice. She drew an extra out of her muff 
and showed me the big black headlines : 

.YALE LUCK AGAIN. 

Princeton's left guard tackles a truck and 
IS PUT on the shelf. 

I was reading it for the third time when she 
said : "Is it very dangerous, Tom ? Can't I 
do anything ? I came right away — without a 
word to any one. I knew they'd leave you for 
the game." " You were going yourself ! " I cried, 
remorsefully. She shook her head. " I don't 
want to," she said. I looked out of the window 
for a long time. The first half must have 
been over long ago. If I only knew. I felt 
her hand on mine. "Tom," she said. "I won- 
der," I remarked mostly to myself, " if they are 
trying the fullback tricks." "Tom," she said, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 25 

" I want to tell you something. " " If I only knew 
which was winning," I muttered to the wall. 

" Tom ! " There was a break in her voice. I 
looked at the clock. *' Why, the game's over ! " 
I cried. " We've won or we've lost ! " There 
was a noise in the street below, a clatter of feet, 
and a crying of shrill voices. " The extras are 
out " — I tried to sit up, and the room began to 
whirl dangerously. " Which won — you can 
find out at the window, Marie — which won ?" 
She went to the window — but how slowly ! 
She listened for a moment, and then turned. 
"Which won.?" I repeated. The shadow fell 
across her face. "I came to answer some- 
thing," she said, steadily, " that you asked me 
last week. Which do you care to hear — that 
or the result of the game ? " 

Fm afraid I didn't quite understand her at 
first. The noise outside grew fainter and fainter. 
You know her face was in the dusk, and I raised 
myself to see her more plainly. Then the room 
went round again, and I dropped back against 
the headboard. And the next thing I knew, she 
was beside the bed, telling me both in the same 
breath. 

Princeton Tiger. 



26 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



An Unplayed Trump* 

Hat in hand, Freshman Black, with bowed 
head, thoughtfully trudged up the stairs into the 
dean's office. From under one arm was stick- 
ing his big black-covered note-book. On the 
fingers of his left hand he was making a careful 
computation. 

" At four — too young ; at eight — sick abed ; 
at twelve — one hundred and eightieth merid- 
ian ; sixteen this month. There, that ought to 
be good," he growled to himself, as he gave an 
officious thump on the door at the head of the 
stairs. 

The dean was busy. Black sat down in one 
of the empty chairs. It was his first invasion 
of the official apartments since he had taken out 
his Freshman Bible. His inexperience occa- 
sioned him not a few misgivings, which were not 
allayed at all by the rather dejecting dismissal 
of two Juniors, who he knew had come on errands 
similar to his own. However, he felt himself 
well prepared. 

" Good morning, Black," very shortly. 

"Good morning, professor. I intend to go 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 27 

home during Washington's Birthday recess, and 
I wish to speak with you about — " 

" Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the dean, 
" about an extension of time. Very sorry. Black, 
but no excuses are to be given this year. I have 
refused fifty men already, and must treat all 
alike." 

"I see that, professor, of course, but I have 
got-" 

" An ulcerated tooth. I understand perfectly. 
Black. Very unfortunate, but you see so many 
are afHicted with that same malady, at precisely 
this time every year, that I positively cannot 
grant absences on account of it. If every 
ulcerated tooth in this college were to be 
extracted, half the Freshman class would be 
in bandages." 

'^ So I have been told, professor, but some 
one must have misinformed you in regard to my 
case. I've got full sets of false teeth in both 
jaws. What I was about to say was, that my 
sister — " 

** Yes, yes, yes. Black, I understand, I under- 
stand. Your sister is just on the point of death. 
I am just as sorry as I can be, but I couldn't let 
you go if your whole family had the yellow fever 



28 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

and you were the only nurse available. Good 
morning." 

"Again you have been misinformed, sir," 
went on the complacent Freshman. " My sister 
is in charming health. She will be sixteen years 
old the twenty-ninth of this month, and that's 
why I want to go home. This is but the third 
birthday that she has ever had, and, naturally 
enough, she wants me to be there." 

"Third!" thundered the dean. "I thought 
you said she was sixteen." 

" She is sixteen," Black went on, hotly, " but 
didn't I tell you she was born on February 29th .? 
Her birthday comes only once in four years. 
Her first one, when she was four, she was too 
young to have any fun out of it. On her second, 
when she was eight, she was sick abed. On her 
third, when she was twelve, we were travelling, 
and happened just then to be crossing the one 
hundred and eightieth meridian. The time 
reckoning did us out of that day. The poor 
girl has only had two birthdays, so you will see 
now why I am so anxious about getting home." 

"Black," said the dean, slowly, "as annually 
happens at this time, in the last two days I have 
had twenty-seven cases of ulcerated teeth, thir- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 29 

teen business appointments, eight dead grand- 
parents, six fatal illnesses, three marriages, and 
two departures for Europe. Black, even a dean 
appreciates originality. Black, you are excused 
for two weeks." 

" I didn't have the heart to tell the young 
rascal," chuckled the good-natured dean to him- 
self, as the delighted Freshman rushed down 
the stairs two steps at a jump, " I didn't have 
the heart to tell him I happened to know that 
he is an only child." 

F. V. Bennis. 
Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 

In Perspective^ 

All of a sudden the two narrow specks away 
up-stream flashed in the sunlight. From the 
two tugs, great black clouds of smoke began to 
roll up, and there was a faint whistle. 

The 'Varsity eights were off. 

On they came, the two narrow specks, like 
swift waterbugs, with their long, thin legs work- 
ing rapidly on each side. As they approached, 
the lines lengthened and the eight divisions of 
each could be seen, each moving for itself and 



30 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

yet all working together, like the ridged back of 
a caterpillar. Behind each, the two tugs black 
with men, with clouds of oily smoke pouring 
up from their funnels and rolling up before them 
a surging fold of green water, steamed heavily 
along. 

Harvard Advocate. 

Three^ 

Now Tom Ralston, as everybody knew, was 
the pleasantest and laziest and best-natured 
fellow in the world, and everybody knowing 
that took advantage of it and of him. He 
couldn't say no to any one or anything. No 
one ever knew him to refuse to do a favour at 
any cost to himself, and presently he was the 
best liked and worst abused man in the place. 

His particular forte was answering " Here " 
for other men who for various reasons saw fit 
to absent themselves from divers and sundry 
recitations and lectures, especially eight o'clocks. 
His one particular failing, his friends said, was 
that he could not or would not cut lectures, and 
he was thus a useful man to know, his friendship 
being especially cultivated by men who did cut. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 3 1 

He answered to the names of his friends 
when asked to do so — and that was very often 
— with painstaking care. But one day, when 
he had answered for five men at one lecture, it 
occurred to him of a sudden he was somehow 
being imposed on. It was hard work to re- 
member to answer for them in the right place. 
Now the best-natured of us do not like to think 
our kindness is being taken advantage of, and 
the more Tom thought the situation over, the 
more firmly he became convinced this thing 
must stop. For a time 'he was puzzled to find 
just how this could be done. It was no use to 
tell the men he wouldn't, that would make hard 
feeling, it would take a lot of time and trouble, 
and it would be months before men would quit 
asking him. Some simpler plan must be de- 
vised that would be quick, effective, and univer- 
sal, something that would impress his change of 
heart forcibly on their minds. He said nothing 
to any one about his decision. He was not that 
kind. He kept his own counsel and, having a 
sense of humour, devised a plan presently, in his 
easy-going way, that he thought would work. 

Professor Summers's class was very large. 
Three times a week he lectured to two or three 



32 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

hundred men of several classes and courses. 
Tom's friends mustered into these lectures in 
force, and it was here he was obliged to perjure 
himself oftenest. Here it was, then, that his 
plan must be put in execution. 

One evening, going down-town for the mail 
after tea, he met a chum. " By the way, 
Charlie," he said, ^'Fm going to cut Prof. Sum- 
mers in the morning. Answer for me, will 
you .? " 

*' Glad to," said Charlie. 

He met another an instant later, with the 
same request and answer, and another, till he 
had unostentatiously pledged some twenty-five 
or thirty men to respond to his name. Then he 
dropped in on several men on his way up and 
got them. At breakfast he asked some more, 
and all he met on their way up, till half the class 
had agreed to assure the mild professor of his 
presence. 

Then when they had gone rejoicing on their 
way, with his slow, sweet smile, he strolled up 
the campus and dropped unnoticed into a seat 
by the lecture-room door, as the roll was being- 
called. It went as peacefully and monotonously 
as usual. "Adams, Alexander, Arkwright, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 33 

Baldwin, Berdick, Binks, Blinn," and the "here," 
"here," "here," "here," "here," till along at 
the end there came "Perkins," "here," "Piatt," 
"here," "Prather," "here," — "Ralston," and 
with an emphasis that rattled the windows, half 
the class answered " Here ! " 

Then there was a sudden hush. In deathlike 
silence each of the obliging men looked curiously, 
then angrily, around at his companions, suspect- 
ing that somehow he had been betrayed, yet not 
fully understanding how. The other half of the 
class looked even more stupefied, but, supposing 
there was some joke on the professor, laughed. 
The professor himself, startled from the dull 
routine of the roll-call, looked up in puzzled 
surprise, not unmixed with anger, but seeing an 
equally puzzled look on the faces of some of the 
men nearest to him, waited a moment and called 
again " Ralston ! " And from the far corner 
where Tom sat with his slow, sweet smile, there 
came with startling distinctness his " Here ! " 
that turned his half of the class in their seats as 
if they had been moved by an electric shock. 
But he sat and smiled pleasantly at them. 

Then the old professor looked over his glasses. 
" Mr. Ralston," said he, " will you kindly stop 



34 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



a moment at the desk after the lecture ? I 
would like to speak to you." And so after the 
lecture Tom went slowly up to the desk while 
his friends waited outside. 

** Mr. Ralston," said the professor, "that was 
a curious manifestation in class to-day." 

** Yes," said Tom, encouragingly. 

" Do you — ah — happen to know, Mr. Rals- 
ton, the — ah — names of any of those young 
men who — ah — put up that joke on you this 
morning ? " 

And Tom, with smiling truthfulness, assured 
the dear old man that he knew no man who had 
played any joke on him that morning. 

But the anxious friends who awaited him out- 
side assured him in turn, on his emerging safe 
from the hands of the professor, that if he ever 
dared tell that story while he was in college, 
they would do themselves the honour of attend- 
ing his execution en masse. And he, having 
sufficiently impressed his point on their minds 
by his little joke, and having through it become 
a college tradition, be it said to his honour, never 
did tell the story till years afterward when he 
came back an alumnus. 

Cornell Magazine. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 35 



A Believer in Class Spirits 

While in college Charley West had been a 
loyal and devoted member of the class of 1900. 
Throughout his course he had always signed 
himself, "Charles S. West, 1900," and this 
became so strong a habit that he found it 
hard to break in the first few years after his 
graduation. He found himself still putting 
"1900" after his signature, and when starting 
to Cuba to accept a position as civil engineer, 
he discovered that he had absent-mindedly 
added the cherished numerals to his signature 
in the passenger list of the Santiago line. 
*' There's no such room in the boat," the 
purser had reminded him, with an indulgent 
smile. 

Charley did not build any great hopes on his 
new appointment. The company was just being 
formed, for the purpose of building a railroad 
from Santiago to a point some forty miles east, 
and Charley was engaged to assist the surveying 
party in laying out the road. Unfortunately, 
the financial backing of the new concern did 
not look promising. 



36 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

For several days the subscription books of the 
Santiago and Eastern Railroad Company, as it 
was called, were open for local investments. 
As the engraved stock certificates were not yet 
ready, the subscribers were given temporary re- 
ceipts. Those who wanted only one share were 
to sign simply their names, while those who 
desired more were to indicate after their names 
the number of shares desired. Charley West 
thought he might as well buy a share in his 
own company, — they were selling at twenty-five 
dollars, but he would not be able to pay for it 
till he had received his first salary, at the end 
of the week. Consequently he signed his name 
in the book, and, instead of making the usual 
deposit asked the clerk in charge if he could 
be given credit till Saturday morning. The 
clerk, knowing of his connection with the 
company, readily agreed, and Charley left the 
office with hardly a thought of his invest- 
ment. He intended to call Saturday morn- 
ing, pay for his share, and receive a receipt 
or a certificate. 

The next morning, Tuesday, he learned that 
lack of confidence in the company had caused 
the stock to fall to 1 5 in the Havana market. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 37 

" Well, I'd be out ten dollars if I sold now," 
he told himself. 

Wednesday morning, as he was about to leave 
his lodgings at Santiago to depart for the scene 
of the day's work, a friend called him back to 
show him an item in the Santiago Ctiban- 
American. 

" Listen to this, Charley, that stock of yours 
is going up. Look at the headlines : 

RISE IN SANTIAGO AND EASTERN. 

INTRODUCTION OF AMERICAN CAPITAL BOOMS RAIL- 
ROAD STOCK. 

" Ah I To proceed. 

" * It was stated last evening at the offices of 
the Santiago and Eastern Railroad Company 
that a syndicate of American capitalists had 
made an offer for all the unsubscribed stock of 
the company, acceptance of which was promptly 
given. The syndicate agents, who are now in 
the city, have been thoroughly investigating the 
new company and its projects, and say that the 
work will be vigorously prosecuted,' etc., etc. It 
goes on to say that the stock has risen to 60." 

" Jumping Jupiter ! " shouted Charley. " I'm 
in thirty-five dollars ! " 



38 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Just wait awhile, old man, — I see your 
name down here somewhere, and I'll read what 
it says : 

" ' Several local investors were prudent enough 
to secure seats in the band-wagon before the rise. 
Most of the orders were for small amounts, how- 
ever. In fact, the only investment of any con- 
sequence is that of Mr. Charles S. West, whose 
name is down for nineteen hundred ' — Great 
Scott, man, do you mean to say you bought — " 

" Hurrah for ' Naughty-aught ! ' " cried Charley, 
who was just comprehending the situation. For 
a moment he did some figuring on the margin 
of the newspaper. "I'm in sixty-six thousand 
five hundred dollars — and all because of my 
class spirit ! I'm sure I can easily cover that 
bid — but wait till I tell you how it happened." 

And yet there are those who say that a col- 
lege education is of no practical value in later 
life! 

James Albert Wales. 

Trinity Tablet. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 39 



The Unexpected* 

There were seven or eight of us in Dixon's 
room, shortly after the examinations, Hstening 
to a story which the Hvely Sophomore was 
telhng. 

"The jay was just going into University Hall 
when I let drive at him with a snow-ball, and — " 
He stopped suddenly and held up his hand for 
silence, while a look of alarm overspread his 
face. 

Tramp ! Tramp ! Tramp ! came the sound of 
slow footsteps in the hall. 

" Flunk-notices ! " said Dixon, tragically. 

There came a sharp click at the letter-hole of 
the door and a letter dropped on the floor. 

" Hang it all ! " said Dixon, aggrieved. " That's 
just my infernal luck. I'll bet it's in chemistry." 
With disgust written all over his face he picked 
up the letter; then his expression changed to 
one of joy. He hastily tore open the envelope 
and held up a check for us to see. 

"Whoop-la!" said Dixon. "It's from home 
and was sent to the steward's office by mistake ! 
I'm getting tired of being scared that way at the 



40 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



,511 



end of every term. Moral : don't cry till you 
are hurt." 

" I should think," said Marvin, who was a 
student, " that there is a much plainer moral 
than that — " 

But Dixon was dancing a startling sort of 
can-can, while he waved the check above his 
head. 

Brunonian. 

Two Yards to Gain» 

We had only two yards to make to carry 
the ball over. "2-14-18 1-2-3," cried the quar- 
ter. I put my head down and dove for the line 
just as a brown streak twisted itself into my 
arms. I watched the brown wall ahead of me. 
" How long I was in reaching it ! Would it never 
open ! " Suddenly a break appeared, only to be 
stopped up by a brown object with a splash 
of white on top. I was lifted off my feet and 
thrown ; but fell forward. As I fell, I caught 
a glimpse of the grayish-blue sky, rolling like 
the waves of the ocean, and on one side a high 
wall dotted with crimson specks which rose and 
fell like the hammers of a piano. Bright copper 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 4 1 

discs suddenly burned my eyes. Then the most 
refreshing, cool darkness shut in. 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Chance Acquaintance^ 

It was a particularly attractive girl that sat 
opposite Jim Ware in the train that night, and 
Jim Ware had an eye for attractive girls. She 
had a naive sort of look about her that quite 
charmed him, but even this failed to exert any 
salutary effects whatever, and I am ashamed to 
say that he stared across the aisle quite impo- 
litely, and then coughed in a gentle but repre- 
hensible manner. 

His charmer looked up and caught his admir- 
ing glance, but she blushed slightly and made 
a pretence of being busy with some papers in 
her lap, not being able, however, to control a 
slight twitching at the corners of her mouth. 
Jim thought that these papers which she fum- 
bled with were students' notes, but she was 
really too good-looking for a co-ed, and then, 
besides, who ever heard of a co-ed who would 
— well — who would smile at a strange man t 
So Jim beamed upon her again, and, assured 



42 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

that his tentative efforts did not appear to have 
offended her to any particular extent, he exerted 
himself anew, and for the next five minutes 
shamefully neglected his evening paper. 

" West Newton, West Newton ! " screamed 
the brakeman. 

Jim's station was next, and, realising that 
every moment was precious, he made a sign to 
the girl, and scribbled a couple of words on his 
card, observing with satisfaction that she was 
doing the like on one of the papers in her 
lap. 

" Auburn dale ! " called the brakeman. 

A skilful exchange of billets was but the 
work of a moment, and, emerging from the train, 
Jim hurried to the flickering gaslight at the 
station, and unfolded the crumpled note which 
his fair vis-a-vis had pressed into his hand. One 
side of the sheet was covered with print, of 
which Mr. Don Juan Ware caught a few words 
at the end : 

"... Think what joy there is in heaven 
over the sinner that repenteth. Turn ye there- 
fore from your evil ways and sin no more." 

{Pub. by S. S. and Tract Union of the Evan- 
gelical Mission.) 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE ' 43 

At the top were two lines in a delicate 
feminine hand, saying, " I hope you will come 
around to our meeting to-morrow night. Salva- 
tion Hall, up on Washington Street, you know." 

But I have forgotten whether Jim went. 

The Tech. 

A Very Young Man» 

He was a young man. For months he had 
worshipped the girl in blue, who sat opposite 
him in the parlour. He had never told her of 
his love. She didn't want him to. He had 
come often and stayed late. She could only 
sigh and wait. 

He was about to leave on his summer vaca- 
tion, and had decided to spring the question 
uppermost in his mind. He kept it to himself 
until the last moment. It was 11.30 by the 
clock on the mantel. It was not a very rapid 
clock. 

"Miss Edith," he said, " I am going away to- 
morrow." 

" Are you .? " she asked, with all the thought- 
lessness of girlhood. 

She gazed tearfully at the clock. 



44 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



" Yes," he replied, " are you sorry ? " 
" Very sorry," she murmured ; " I thought you 
might be going to-night." 

She glanced toward his chair. He had van- 
ished. 

K. E. H. 

Wrinkle. 



Her Moral Downfall 

Charley certainly was happy with his de- 
voted little wife, and showed in every possible 
way how dearly he loved her and appreciated all 
she did for him. Formerly Charley had been a 
club-man, but on being married had given this 
life up for a time. 

The attractions of club life, however, were in 
the end too much for him, and the frequent press- 
ing invitations were not to be resisted, so one 
evening he told his wife that be was going out 
" on very important business, my dear, and will 
not be home until quite late," and departed, leav- 
ing his latch-key in the left-hand pocket of his 
other trousers — as usual. Mrs. Dirgee paid a 
call upon her dearest friend, and stayed with her 
all evening, talking over the virtues of their ab- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 45 

sent acquaintances, the latest fashions in chate- 
laine reticules, the rival merits of cod-liver oil 
and Hood's Sarsaparilla as a tonic, how to 
fricassee oysters, and other choice bits of fem- 
inine conversation. When she got home she 
found the cook had taken advantage of her 
master's and mistress's absence, and had gone 
to call on her dearest friend, too. 

The prospect of being alone in the house, for 
some little time, was by no means a pleasing 
one to Mrs. D., even though she was not a very 
nervous woman. She had quite a little courage, 
but the thought of all that silver in her room 
made her rather uneasy. She would have moved 
it if she could, but it was too heavy for her. 
However, she put a bold face on the matter, 
and locking up, and barricading her half-opened 
door with a chair, she went to bed. 

About half-past eleven she woke up again. 
Neither Charley nor the girl had returned. She 
began to feel nervous. A beam creaked sharply 
and frightened her. The clicking of her clock 
grew louder and louder. She felt as if she were 
being suffocated. How she did wish Charley 
would return ! She felt sure that, unless he 
came home very soon, something dreadful would 



46 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

happen. She began to get very nervous. Bur- 
glars might get into the house and murder her, 
and steal her beloved punch-bowl. She imag- 
ined she could hear people walking around in 
the house. They might get in at a window — 
and then, with a dreadful sinking sensation, she 
remembered that she had left the parlour win- 
dow unfastened. To go down and latch it now 
in the dark and cold was very hard to do ; but 
she felt that she must. She arose in bed in 
order to go down and do so, but she fell back 
again, trembling with fear, and in a cold per- 
spiration. She could hear the parlour window 
being gently raised ! Heaven above us, bur- 
glars ! So they had come at last ! Oh, if 
Charley were only here ! If he had returned 
earlier, she was sure she would have been saved 
this. She would be murdered ; her silver punch- 
bowl would be stolen. What should she do ? 
What could she do ? If Charley were here, he 
could shoot them ; he had a revolver. She might 
shoot them ! But a revolver had sucA an un- 
comfortable habit of going off the wrong way, 
and she knew she would scream when it was 
fired. Charley would find her a bleeding 
corpse ; and she found herself wondering 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 47 

whether she would have a rosewood or a 
mahogany coffin. 

By this time, she could hear the burglar in the 
parlour. He stumbled over a chair, and the 
sudden racket nearly scared poor Mrs. Dirgee 
to death. How Charley would mourn when he 
found his little wife dead ; she knew he never 
would get over it. But then, dreadful thought, 
he might marry again ! This new, horrible idea 
stirred Mrs. Dirgee to action. Something must 
be done to avert such a dreadful calamity. She 
began to think what she might do to save her 
loving Charley. Oh, if she were only a man ! 
What would a man do t Would he get up and 
speak to the burglars, and frighten them off.? 
She thought she might do that at any rate. 
But was her voice deep enough, and would not 
a man use very dreadful language under such 
circumstances } She felt she could not bring 
herself to swear, but something must be done to 
save her life, even at the cost of her reputation. 
So she got quietly out of bed, trembling vio- 
lently, stealthily unbarricaded the door, and 
crept out to the top of the staircase. She could 
hear the burglar coming up in his stocking-feet ; 
but the pitchy darkness hid everything from her 



48 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



sight. Summoning all her courage, she called 
out in her deepest tones, but with a decided 
quaver : " Who in h — 1 is down there, any- 
how ? " And there came up out of the dark- 
ness a voice, meek but not unmixed with 
surprise : " It is only me, dearest." 

William Hastings Easton. 

Red and Blue. 



A Dream of Fair Women. 

(In a Co-educational College.) 

I AM not in the habit of sleeping over my 
books, but a fellow will doze over Ethics in the 
evening, especially after a ten-mile tramp. 

I was just reading for the fifth time, "Noth- 
ing can be a good except in relation to the 
sensibility in its most general meaning. If we 
conceive of all elements of feeling struck out of 
existence" — when I found myself seated in 
the rear of the chapel. I was a post-graduate. 
The chapel was about to be dismissed, and the 
president had said, " There is a call for a college 
meeting." 

Instinctively I arose, as had been my habit, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 49 

and waited for the ladies to pass out. But what 
did I see ? In front of me was a sea of hats, 
bonnets, and Tarn o* Shanters, while down the 
aisle came a handful of the most abject, pitiful 
looking youths I had ever beheld. They passed 
out huddled together as if for mutual support 
and protection. I stood rooted to the spot, and 
was hardly conscious of the glances of surprise 
and scorn cast at me from all sides. I was evi- 
dently considered beneath their* notice, for the 
president of the Senior Class, a pretty miss of 
about eighteen, mounted the platform, and, in 
a rich alto voice, requested somebody to state 
the object of the meeting. A damsel from the 
Junior Class arose and thus addressed the 
chair : " A report has been circulating through- 
out the newspapers, to the effect that Wesleyan 
at one time in history had both a football and 
baseball team. We feel that such reports are 
ll contrary to the best interest of the college, and 
I move an absolute denial of the slander." The 
motion was seconded and passed, and I turned 
to go, but the movement aroused me, and I 
woke to find the page before me wet with tears. 

John A. Thompson. 
Wesleyan Literary Monthly. 



50 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



A Magazine Story. 

" It's so tiresome ! " said Polly. 

" I suppose I should think so, too, if I knew 
what you were talking about," said I. 

" Love stories are all alike," said she, throw- 
ing the magazine upon the floor. 

"Ah," said I. "In magazines, do you mean, 
or in life ?" I picked up the magazine and it 
opened of itself to some " storiettes." 

"I'm only eighteen," said Polly, "so I can't 
judge of life." 

" Well, you were going to remark — " sug- 
gested I, looking straight into her brown eyes. 
(If she had been more than eighteen she would 
have dropped them.) 

"The man always asks the girl's advice. 
We'll call the girl ■ — well, Susan. There is a 
girl he loves passionately, but he dares not tell 
her. What would Susan advise him ? Susan 
stifles her own grief, for she loves him, and 
says, ' By all means tell her you love her.' 
Thereupon he tells Susan he loves /ler. And 
there is great surprise and joy on her part, and 
the story ends." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 5 1 

"Would you think it tiresome if you were 
Susan ? " said I. 

" I don't know." (I don't believe she's 
more than seventeen.) " I mean it's tiresome 
because any girl would know what he meant, 
you see ! " 

" Ah," said I, "I don't believe you were ever 
in love." 

" Dear me, no ! " said Polly. 

"I've been thinking," said Polly, after a 
hopeful pause. 

"I'm not surprised," said I. 

"There's one other kind of love story. It's 
even more tiresome than the first." 

" Is it possible ? " said I. (Love stories in 
magazines may be tiresome ! ) 

" In this other kind, Susan knows that he 
means her, you see, and she advises him just 
the same ; but unfortunately he really means 
another girl." 

"Yes, that is rather tiresome." 

"In the first one," said Polly, "Susan 
grieves, then rejoices for ever. In the second, 
she rejoices, then grieves for ever." 

" In magazine love stories ? " 

"Oh," said Polly, "I'm not talking about 



52 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

life. Girls don't grieve for ever in life. They 
haven't time." 

" I've been thinking," said I, after a hopeless 
pause. '* In both of those cases the girl loves 
the man ! " 

"Yes," said Polly, *' that's the tiresome part." 

'' Oh, I don't know ! " said I. 

*' But you're a man, you see," said she. 

" Polly," said I, " are you a sympathetic 
person } " 

" At times," said Polly. 

" Well, I'm in love." 

Polly looked interested. "Does she know 
it.?" 

" I don't know. I never told her. Would 
you risk it .? " 

"No," said Polly, "I wouldn't." 

"Why not.?" 

"Well, this isn't a magazine story, it's life. 
And Susan really doesn't love the man in either 
case." 

"Oh!" said I. 

I am afraid Polly prevaricated when she said 
she was only eighteen. 

Maude Louise Ray. 

Vassar Miscellany. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 53 



Divine Aid. 

A SEVERE-LOOKING maid opened the door. 

"Well?" she said. 

" Is Miss Tabitha Hopkins at home ? " I 
asked. 

" She's waiting for you." 

"Evidently," I thought, "my great -aunt 
keeps her maid informed of her doings." My 
great-aunt had sent for me to come to her. 
She owned many thousands in her own name, 
and perhaps this compulsory visit meant much 
to me. I hope that I am not too mercenary, 
but I own that the prospect was not displeas- 
ing. 

The maid threw open the door and I entered 
the parlour. It had a faded, musty smell, but 
looked new, and evidently had looked so for a 
long time. Each piece of furniture was placed 
at exactly the right angle. A glance was suffi- 
cient to convince one that it had been replaced 
precisely in the same position for many years. 
All the chairs had white worsted doilies pinned 
to their backs. On the mantel was a glass case 
containing wax flowers. Before the fireplace 



54 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

was a narrow table, with nothing but a fringed 
cover and a large Bible upon it. 

My great-aunt rose to meet me. She was a 
little old lady of about seventy, dressed in black 
silk. 

" This is Robert Hopkins ? " she said. 

*' It is," I answered. I was greatly em- 
barrassed. 

" Sit down, Robert ; I wish to talk with 
you." 

I sat down on one side of the fireplace, and 
my aunt on the other. The narrow table was 
between us. I felt an almost irresistible 
impulse to laugh. 

" For a young man of the present times, your 
appearance is passable." 

" Thank you," I said. 

"There is no need. You are none of you 
half the gentlemen your grandfathers were." 

I bowed. 

"Don't do that," she said, sharply. "You 
make me nervous." 

"I beg your pardon." 

" If you are worthy of it, I intend to leave 
you my fortune. Now answer my questions." 

" Oh, aunt, this is so sudden," I said. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 55 

" Sudden ? What do you suppose I sent for 
you for ? Have you no brains ? " 

" No," I answered, shortly. I was nettled. 

" Well, try to develop some. Do you believe 
in the Word ? " 

** Whose word ? " I asked, bewildered. 

" Are you a religious young man ? " 

" Oh ! — No, Fm afraid not — very." 

"That's very bad. I am." 

" A religious young man ? " I ventured. 

My aunt looked undecided for a minute, and 
then laughed. I was getting on, 

" I like you for admitting it," she said ; 
"but what do you depend on for your moral 
guidance .'' " 

" Honour," I replied. 

She positively smiled. 

" Ah ! that sounds like your grandfather. 
Have you any bad habits ? " 

" What do you call bad habits ? " I asked. 

" Do you drink } " 

" Occasionally." 

" Every day ? " 

" No." 

" Do you smoke ? " 

" Yes." 



56 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"Well," she said, "you may." 

This was rather sudden, but I produced a 
cigar. I struck a match, lighted my cigar 
(what a concession ! ) and threw the match 
beneath the table toward the fireplace. Un- 
fortunately, it caught in the fringe. In a 
moment little flames were curling along the 
edge of the table - cloth ! My great - aunt 
screamed. I tried to extinguish the fire with 
my hands, but only succeeded in burning them. 
Then a brilliant idea struck me ! I seized the 
great Bible, opened it, and closed it with a bang 
over the curling flames. My great-aunt started 
up. 

" Go ! " she said, pointing toward the door. 

" Wha — what's the matter ? " I asked, taken 
aback. 

"Go ! You have desecrated the Book." 

" Why — why, I only extinguished the fire with 
divine aid. See how well the Bible served us." 

My aunt's arm slowly dropped. 

" It saved us," I urged, eagerly. " See. The 
fire did not mark it." 

She looked at the Bible and then at me. " I 
believe you are right," she said. "It was divine 
aid, That settles it," 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 57 

I was too bewildered to understand what my 
aunt meant then, — but the fortune is settled 
on me. Roy M. Mason. 

Yale Courant. 

Alpha and Omega* 

A Freshman of social pretensions was noti- 
fied at the end of his first year that he had 
been elected to the first eight of the Alpha 
Omega Society. He paid the initiation fee of 
^50, and was duly initiated by about twenty-five 
sportive Sophomores. 

After the ceremonies the society adjourned 
to Delmonico's, where a fine dinner awaited its 
members. When all had feasted, and the cham- 
pagne had begun to flow, the president arose 
and said : " Gentlemen : For the benefit of our 
new member (applause), I feel it my duty to 
explain what is of course well known to you 
(You bet !), but what must often have puzzled 
him (Hear, hear ! ). I allude to the name of this 
gloriashoshashun (applause). Sir, the Alpha 
Omega Society is so called because this is its 
first and last meeting." 

The Morningside. 



58 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



A Swimming Race* 

" Timers ready ! Get set ! " the starter cries. 
" Crack ! " goes the pistol, and six hthe, scantily 
clad fellows dive into the water like so many 
peas blown from a pea-shooter. Just beyond 
the circle of ripples caused by the dives, after 
several seconds, six dripping mops of hair reap- 
pear, one by one. Each swimmer draws in a 
deep, quick breath, and then, with head under 
water, speeds along toward a red flag marking 
the 220-yard stake. 

" Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! Church ! — Go it, Hath- 
away ! " shout the onlookers, thronging the pier 
and sitting in the boats closely crowded together 
along the course. As soon as the swimmers are 
by, the fleet of cutters, tenders, and dories on 
both sides of the course come together with a 
rush, marring the varnish on the side of many a 
natty-looking gig. The onlookers, however, are 
heedless of this trifle. To gain a better view, 
many even stand upon the unsteady thwarts of 
the boats, looking over a gay scene of yachting- 
caps, straw hats with variously coloured college 
ribbons, white duck trousers and skirts, moving 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 59 

parasols, and sun-tanned, enthusiastic faces. In 
the hot glare cast by the sun upon the trem- 
bling water, the observers see several black 
objects bobbing toward the red buoy and flag. 
Then a sustained cheer announces that the race 
is half over, and that the return course has been 
begun. 

A naphtha launch, going at half speed and 
whistling shrill toots, drives back from the 
course the maze of small boats. From this 
launch a man calls out, in answer to numer- 
ous questions, that the swimmers are on the 
way back, and that the dark-haired man in 
the maroon shirt has a little the best of it 
over the tall fellow in black. Whereupon a 
small lad sitting in the stern of a yacht's 
tender, and holding a maroon cap and a 
sweater with a " C " upon it, jumps up, shrieks 
out : *' Whee ! Harry's ahead ! " and tosses the 
cap into the air. It lights upon the water and 
is rescued with an oar, while blood-red drops of 
salt water drip from it. 

Once more the swimmers come into view. 
They are swimming in pairs, the hindmost men 
hopelessly behind. The next two are hotly 
contending for place with a man in black, 



6o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

who is but two feet behind "the dark-haired 
man in the maroon shirt." As they come 
along they seem like a school of porpoises, 
each turning his head to catch a breath of 
air and see the direction, then poking it under 
the water, now raising one arm forward above 
the surface of the water with clock-like regu- 
larity, like a glistening fin, then disappearing 
completely. Suddenly the man in black changes 
his stroke from the English racing stroke to the 
wearisome Trojan, one hand alternating with 
the other in sharply, surely cutting the water, 
then springing back while the swimmer liter- 
ally jumps ahead. " Go, go, go, Hathaway ! 
Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! " shout the crowd. But 
above all this noise a shrill voice pipes : 
" Harry, Harry, Harry ! " And Harry hears. 
He, too, changes his stroke, and half -raising 
himself from the water, like the sails on a 
windmill, his arms beat down, hurling him 
across the tape a winner by a foot. 

R. T. Rogers. 
University of Chicago Weekly. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 6 1 



As Old as May. 

The warm May breeze blew a shower of 
white cherry petals in at the window. A girl 
was sitting there reading a letter, but as the 
petals fell into her lap, she stopped a moment 
and smiled out at the cherry-tree. Then she 
went on reading. The letter was from her 
married sister, some ten years older than 
she. 

" Your letters have been saying a good deal 
lately about some young man friend of yours," 
the letter ran. " I don't know how much you 
see of him, or how much you think of him ; but, 
oh, Floy, before you begin to think much of 
any man, be careful. You are an impulsive girl, 

too impulsive, I'm afraid. Maybe this is all 

unnecessary, and there haven't any ideas of 
marriage ever entered your head ; but, Floy, 
believe what I tell you, — I wouldn't say it to 
any one but you, — a woman never knows any- 
thing about a man until she is married to him. 
There isn't a woman that don't wish within six 
months that she'd never gotten married, and 
there ain't one in ten that don't keep on wishing 



62 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

either that, or that she had a chance to choose 
over again." 

The girl laid down the letter and smiled out 
at the cherry-tree once more. Then she picked 
up a picture off the bureau — it was the face of 
a good-looking young man, with a weak mouth 
and retreating chin — and kissed it. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

First Conversation: Across the Fence* 

As I turned the corner I had a confused 
vision of some one vainly struggling with the 
heights of the fence on the left. '' A fair maid 
in distress," was my silent comment. I strode 
forward, but contemplated the other side of the 
street. She gave a sob of defeat, and fell back 
to the sidewalk ; at which I looked around. 

She was leaning against the fence, breathing 
rapidly, her face, as it seemed in the dusk, red- 
dened by her exertion and ill success. She 
looked at me appealingly. " Would it be pre- 
sumptuous," said I, doffing my cap, "for me to 
offer my humble services in any way } " 

" You see," she began in embarrassment, " I 
must be back in time for evening prayers, but 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 63 

the only gate is around in front, and this fence," 
she looked vengefully at the offending structure, 
"is so high." « 

"Yes, I see," said I, striving to look en- 
lightened. 

" I'd be sure to get caught if I went in at the 
gate," she continued. " And it was only," she 
added, pitifully, " to get a glass of soda." 

" No one is in sight," I began, holding out my 
arms, " and — " I paused, for she had drawn 
herself up very sternly. I twirled my cap in 
perplexity. Then- 1 had a happy thought. " If 
I should bend down," I began again, ''you might 
step on my back, grasp the fence, and — " 

At a guess I should say she weighs, well — a 
hundred. 

"Thank you," said she from the other side 
of the fence. 

" Evening prayers don't begin quite yet, do 
they ? " I ventured, since she seemed on the 
point of leaving. 

" Well, no-o," she admitted ; " but very soon." 

" How many girls are there in the school .-* " 
I asked, at a loss how else to open the conver- 
sation, 

" About thirty," she said. 



64 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Whew ! " said I, mopping my brow, *' soda 
is good these hot days ! " 

" Yes," she answered, " isn't it ! and don't 
you like strawberry best ? " 

'^ Of course," I agreed, and then regretted 
lying, for it might have been made a subject for 
discussion. 

" I think I ought to be going," she said. 

" Do you often go for soda at this hour .-* " I 
asked. 

" No," said she, " to-day was the first time." 

" But you will again .? " 

" But the fence .? " 

" Yes, but that's been — " 

« Well .? " 

" To-morrow, won't you 1 " 

« I can't tell." 

" I shall wait on the other side of the street." 

" Really } " And then the sound of the bell 
came from the house, and she ran across the 
garden. She runs well. 

Richard Hooker. 
Yale Literary Magazine. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 65 



Johnny* 

We had planned an all-day drive through the 
beautiful country near Norfolk, and by nine in 
the morning were well started on our way. 
Mother had promised to stifle her usual lack of 
confidence in my horsemanship, so in the gayest 
of spirits we found ourselves speeding over the 
road toward Colebrook. 

I always believed that when mother got out 
of the carriage *'for blackberries," it was only 
that she might have a few moments of free and 
easy breathing on the kind of " terra " that was 
absolutely firma, where she could regulate her 
own speed. 

My little horse and I were climbing slowly up 
the hill, when suddenly I heard a voice by my 
side, " Oh, once-t I killed a adder ! " The 
dearest little face, belonging to a boy about nine, 
was looking up at me from the blackberry 
bushes by the side of the road. He climbed in 
with mother and myself, and we took him home ; 
but although his face lighted up when we talked 
with him, and he perfectly understood, yet he 
could say nothing, apparently, beyond his one 



66 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

remark about "a adder." We were beginning 
to think him a Uttle too much of a mystery, and 
I resolved to know more about him. 

We learned that he had been dumb for some 
time, and had been in a school for mutes two 
years. They had been able to teach him noth- 
ing, but one day he astonished them all with 
the remark, " Oh, once-t I killed a adder ! " 

Johnny and I became the fastest of friends, 
and were together a great deal during the 
summer. I tried very hard to teach him my 
name, saying, over and over again, " Miss Flor- 
ence, don't forget." To my delight he began 
to make sounds, out of which I frantically en- 
deavoured to make " Florence." He never got 
any farther than <^ My Florence, don't forget," 
and " My Florence " it remained to the end of 
his life. 

One day quite late in the fall, Johnny's mother 
sent for me very suddenly. I found my little 
friend very ill. 

That night, as I sat by him, he suddenly 
stretched out both his arms to me, and the piti- 
ful little voice said, '^ Oh, my Florence, don't 
forget — once-t I killed a adder ! " It had 
always been his only way of making me feel 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 6/ 

what he meant, and I could always understand. 
Johnny was sorry to leave me, and all the sorrow 
of his little soul was fully expressed in the lan- 
guage of his one great exploit. Could I ever 
forget it, with all its variations of meaning, that 
Johnny had once-t killed a adder.? 

Florence E. Wilder. 

The Mount Holyoke. 

The First Time* 

" Won't you have one } " I leaned forward 
in my chair, one hand on my knee, the other 
holding out a box of cigarettes. She looked 
wistfully at it. 

" I'd like to try it ever so much, but — oh, 
well, they'll never find out, anyhow. You'll 
promise not to tell any one, won't you .?" 

" I shouldn't think of it," I replied, reaching 
them out temptingly. 

" You shouldn't think — " 

" Of telling, I mean," and I tossed them into 
her lap. 

Bending forward, she took one out, and, hold- 
ing it between her thumb and forefinger, lighted 
it clumsily. Then she put it to her lips, and, 



68 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

taking a couple of puffs, laid it down in the little 
bronze ash tray beside her. I took a long pull 
at my cigar and leaned back to watch the smoke 
float upward, until it joined the long, stringy 
cloud that waved across the room. 

'< I wonder when Alice will be back," she 
said, finally. " I don't even know where she's 
gone." 

"Neither do I," I responded, "but I don't 
care. If you find this amusing, I'm sure it 
satisfies me." 

She took another puff at her cigarette, and, as 
she held it, a thin blue line of smoke curled up 
from the tip, and drifted across the little table, 
until it was sucked up by the hot air rising from 
the lamp. Whenever Alice had to leave her 
visitors for an evening, I was expected to amuse 
them, and when the family was out the easiest 
way was to give them cigarettes. Strange as it 
may seem, none of them, so far, had refused the 
offer. 

I turned to see how she was getting on. The 
cigarette was pretty low — she had burned up 
half in lighting it. 

" How is it ? " I said, smiling. 

" It is perfectly horrid," she replied. She 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 69 

leaned back, throwing one arm over the back of 
the chair, looking down at the other hand where 
it lay in her lap. A line of smoke drifted along 
the stump. 

*'It tastes — oh, my! it's all in my nose and 
my eyes. I hate the nasty thing ! Here, take 
it." 

Then, after a pause : 

^*And it leaves an awful taste in my mouth, 
too. I'll never touch another one." 

It was three weeks later, after her visit was 
over and she was gone, that I received a note 
from her. 

"Please burn this, after you have read it," 
she wrote, " but won't you tell me what sort of 
cigarettes those were ? " 

Harvard Advocate. 

My First Boat-race^ 

It was my first boat-race. After six months' 
hard training I had at last made the crew. I 
was perhaps a little more nervous than the rest. 
I remember thinking, at the start, how I was 
ever going to jam my legs down, for, from ner- 
vousness, every bit of strength seemed to have 



70 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

left them. I looked around at the crowd of 
boats in a bewildered fashion as if wondering 
what they were doing there. Suddenly the 
referee said " Ready." Every muscle tightened. 
All my energies concentrated on the start. 
" Go." We were off. For the first few strokes 
I could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. 
Gradually I discovered I was keeping time. I 
recognised the neck of the man in front of me. 
I heard the voice of the coxswain. That was 
all. Suddenly a cannon boomed almost behind 
my ear, and I felt as if I had been knocked 
overboard. The sweat began to pour down 
my back only to be replaced by the spray, for 
it was a rough day. I saw the mile flag pass, 
out of the corner of my eye. I knew the race 
was half over. On ! on ! was it never going to 
end .-* I could feel nothing, though I knew I 
must be doing my part. Suddenly the coxswain 
shouted, " For God's sake, boys, pull ! One 
hundred yards more and Yale is still ahead." 
We gave a last dying effort and crossed the 
line. I looked around. We were beaten by 
half a length, but Harvard was ten lengths 
behind. 

The Morningside, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 7 1 



Economy* 

The streets were deluged with moonlight. 
The ground was frozen hard ; it felt like stone 
under our feet. The air had the pleasantness 
in our throats of cold water after a dusty drive. 
We had been together to see Julia Arthur in 
"A Lady of Quality," Miss W. and I. As all 
the seats on the ground floor had been taken, 
we had bought balcony seats ; and as we had 
been alone we had come home immediately 
after the theatre, instead of going first to 
supper. While walking rapidly from the car 
to our house, we were counting up how much 
money we had saved in this way, and were 
congratulating ourselves hilariously on our wise 
economy. 

As we passed a row of little stores on Fifty- 
fifth Street, we saw one still brightly lighted. 
Within, on the wide wooden sill of the window, 
among torn and rumpled newspapers, lay a two- 
year-old child asleep. Beyond, stood the child's 
mother, the little woman to whom we take our 
laundry. Her dingy, clinging calico wrapper 
showed how bony her shoulders were, how hoi- 



72 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

low her chest. Her thin face, though wet with 
perspiration, was without colour ; it was haggard, 
and set in lines of terrible weariness. Her 
prominent blue eyes were more staring than 
usual. She was ironing still, at twelve o'clock ; 
ironing collars at three cents each. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

In the Afternoon Car^ 

By late afternoon the car was almost crowded, 
but the young man of the foremost seat did not 
know it. A large box of sweet peas filled the 
rest of the seat ; he held a book, and from time 
to time read a page, but for the most part 
looked out of the window. 

The day had been hot ; it was still gray, 
smoky, sombre. But to him the world was 
exquisitely beautiful. As they flashed by, he 
saw a thousand details he had never caught 
before. The fallow brown of newly ploughed 
fields delighted him ; a man at the plough was 
guiding a shambling gray horse, and trotting 
along in the furrows, driving him with a piece 
of string and a dead stick, came his little boy, 
whose pinafore had taken on the exact shade of 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 73 

the fresh-turned earth ; a yellow cur, very active 
as to tail, followed them. Then the track ran 
for several miles by what had once been a busy 
canal, now disused, stagnant, covered over with 
scum of that extraordinary green the impres- 
sionist painters alone know. Steering a cranky 
boat stood a girl in a scarlet gown, like a jungle- 
blossom. 

He found his thoughts breaking into metre 
and rhyme ; tag-ends of unwritten songs, it 
seemed, were floating through his brain, which, 
when he tried to catch them, slipped through 
his fingers, and, breaking, spoiled his mere joy 
in the beauty outside ; so he left off trying. 
Nevertheless, his heart was crooning to itself a 
song without words ; her face changed into 
melody, and the remembered touch of her hand, 
blending with it, gave the chord. 

" Six o'clock ! six o'clock ! six o'clock ! " said 
the car- wheels as they hurried on. The sky 
was all gray except in one place, where the sun- 
set fire had eaten almost through, and gave 
there a red shine as of flame through porcelain. 
The time of the car- wheels changed : " In half 
an hour ! half an hour ! half an hour ! " they 
sang. The young man fancied his deep delight 



74 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

must shine through his face, as the sunset glory 
was shining through the clouds. 

Georgiana Goddard King. 

The Bryn Mawr Lantern. 

His First Race» 

The announcer, greeted by the odour of lini- 
ment as he pokes his head in the doorway of 
the dressing-room, sings out : ** All out for the 
mile run, and get a hustle on you, too, for the 
events are dragging ! " 

A number of active fellows, clad in the usual 
running costume and wrapped up in bath-robes 
and blankets, soon follow this busybody to the 
starting tape. They are all tall, mature, solid- 
looking chaps, except one, whose boyish air, 
emphasised by his curly, light-coloured hair and 
small, springy figure, makes him seem somewhat 
out of place among these experienced giants. 

There is little time to think before the starter, 
not deigning to look at the crowded grand stand, 
nor to hear the eager words of encouragement 
from the friends of the contestants, calls, warn- 
ingly, " Are you ready t " Several of the white- 
suited athletes, who are digging small holes in 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 75 

the running path with the toes of their spiked 
shoes, stop as the order, *' On your marks ! " is 
heard ; then, all bracing themselves, with weight 
well forward, arms extended — one in front, one 
behind — at the command, ** Get set ! " are off 
in a bunch at the pistol shot. 

The pace is "pretty stiff" for a mile, but 
"the little fellow," as some one on the bleachers 
advises, " holds it." 

What fun it is for him to see the bright rib- 
bons and gay costumes of the women, who 
smile at him. The " rooters " shout ** Go ! Go ! 
Go ! " How light his tireless legs feel as they 
rise and fall ; his feet seem barely to touch the 
ground. He notices the gradual turn in the 
track, the bill-boards with various coloured signs, 
the green grass, the yellow clay baseball dia- 
mond, now hidden for a moment by the back- 
stop. Then he passes the sign, painted in white 
letters, ** Start, 880 yds. ; " next the grand stand 
on the right reappears. As he bounds along, 
one lap finished, he catches one glimpse of a 
pretty girl in a duck suit who wears his ribbon. 

The cheers die away. He looks up from the 
corner of his eye and sees the perspiration stand- 
ing out on the man to his right. 



76 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

He determines that that lone man ahead of 
him by only a few feet shall gain no more. 

How worn the edge of the upright board 
bounding the track is. There, too, is some 
burned sand beside it. He hears the deep 
nose-breathing and the methodical pum-pum as 
the spikes in the shoes of the runners behind 
him hit the track. The sun is beating down 
very warmly, too warmly, and makes his throat 
feel parched. The gaseous, hot air rising from 
the track gives everything a dizzy appearance. 
Suddenly his chest feels full of hot coals. He 
catches a glimpse of the trainer, and wonders if 
the words he has overheard this friend say are 
true: '* Jamie has lots of grit." No, they are 
not, for he wants to tumble over on the grass 
and cry, to hide his face, to get away from 
everybody. 

But the race is two-thirds over, for here is the 
grand stand again ; sort of moving about appar- 
ently and kicking up a big rumpus ; he wonders 
what about. Yet the noise gives him heart and 
he forges ahead of the man on his right and 
strives to gain more on the fellow ahead, mov- 
ing with long, sure strides. 

Six feet never seemed such a distance before. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE "]"] 

He grits his teeth, runs his nails into the corks 
in his hands and stares resolutely ahead. The 
perspiration, rolling down in little streams, is no 
longer felt. He doesn't realise now that he 
has a body. The running is mechanical — up, 
down ; up, down. That fellow is ahead. Every- 
thing grows very dim and far-away looking. 
He must go faster, something seems to say. 
That fellow is no longer in front of him. Where 
did he disappear } What is that noise straining 
along by his side t Is that the grand stand 
ahead coming toward him as though mad, cheer- 
ing and yelling, jumping up and down like a 
monkey on a string } Can he ever reach those 
things sticking up there with something shining 
in front of them } They must be the timers ; 
the bright things watches. But no, he can't, 
for the men are gone. He stumbles in despair, 
and, falling, feels something across his legs. 
Then all is blank. 

The grand stand surely has gone mad, — 
people cheering, waving colours, throwing up 
hats, stamping ; all is confusion. 

Strong arms gently carry him to one side and 
stretch him on the grass. The doctor says, 
*' He'll be around directly." 



"J^ CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

'* Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! " What is that noise ? 
Why are they pouring red-hot ice down his 
throat ? He slowly turns his head toward the 
shouting, and spies an anxious, girlish face 
above a duck suit straining forward from the 
front row of seats. A voice in his ear says : 
" If he hadn't fallen forward at the finish, he'd 
have lost ! Won by a head ! Intercollegiate 
record busted ! Plucky little cuss, eh ? Fine 
time, 4:33 4-5 ! " And he swoons again. 

R. T. Rogers. 
University of Chicago Weekly. 

A Yule-tide Happenings 

They were seated in the parlour, he and she. 
She was a pretty Back Bay lass, with a taste 
for bric-a-brac ; he, a traditionally impecunious- 
Soph, with a desire to create an impression on 
her heart. It was the day before Christmas, 
and the conversation naturally tended toward 
Yule-tide topics. Just now it was touching 
upon gifts. 

" Oh, Dick," said the girl, " did you see the 
stunning vases that came in at Harding & 
Ware's, to-day } They were beauties, and I 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 79 

was just dying to have one, but they cost 
over — " 

" Well, one of them may turn up your way 
yet ; " replied he, complacently. " I happened 
to see those vases, and thought you — " 

" You didn't get me one, did you ? You 
foolish, extravagant boy ! But it is awfully 
sweet of you, and I shall never forget it." 

The youth smiled as he thought how he had 
procured that vase for a trifle, after it had been 
smashed by a careless clerk, and had ordered 
that clerk, for another trifle, to pack up the 
vase and send it to her home. He wondered 
what she would think if she knew the true 
story of his *' foohsh, extravagant sweetness." 
Just then the bell rang, and a moment later the 
maid entered the parlour with a box, which she 
handed to the girl. 

''Why, it's from Harding & Ware!" the 
latter exclaimed. ''Your vase! How quick 
they were in sending it up here ! " 

" I hope nothing has happened to it," he said, 
artfully; "the sidewalks are pretty slippery 
to-day, and lots of people have tumbled down." 

" Oh, I hope so, too," rejoined the girl, be- 
ginning to take off the wrappings. The youth 



8o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Stood near her, ready to give vent to exclama- 
tions of astonished indignation and surprise. 
As she finally opened the box, he bent forward, 
gave one look, and then — bolted from the par- 
lour, grabbed his hat, and fled. 

The clerk had earned his money too well. 
Every fragment of the broken vase was wrapped 
up in a separate bit of paper. 

H. P. Huntress. 
Harvard Advocate. 

Cousin John. 

We were returning from the opera very late 
that evening, and as we neared home my wife 
remarked : 

" When do you expect that cousin of yours 
to arrive } He surely ought to be here to- 
morrow, for it's only forty-eight hours from St. 
Louis here." 

" Well, I can't say," I replied. "John's very 
erratic, you know, and he may be here to-mor- 
row, or he may be here next week, or he may 
not be here at all." 

With this I opened the door, and, to my 
surprise, found John dozing in an easy chair 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 8 1 

before the hall fire. He started up as we 
entered, but before he could say anything I was 
shaking hands and welcoming him as heartily 
as one naturally welcomes a cousin who has 
been away ten years. 

"My, John, but you've changed!" my wife 
and I exclaimed, simultaneously. " One would 
scarcely know you since you've had the fever." 

"Yes, I suppose I have changed," replied 
John, "but you two look the same as when I 
last saw you. Pardon me for making myself 
so much at home, but I thought I'd rest a little, 
while waiting for you." 

After talking a short time, we retired, as it 
was very late, and John was very tired. I 
assisted him in carrying his valise to his room. 
That valise was the queerest and heaviest thing 
I've ever seen or carried. 

About six o'clock my wife and I were awak- 
ened by Bridget pounding on the door and 
crying : " Shure, ma'am, there's been robbers 
in the house, and it's nary a bit of silver that's 
left at all, at all." 

We hastily dressed and hurried down, only to 
find that Bridget's words were too true. We 
examined the house but could find no clue to 



82 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

the thief, nor were there any marks of violence 
on door or window. Then I thought of John, 
and rushed up-stairs to find him and get his 
assistance. On opening the door of his room, 
I could see nothing of John or his valise, and 
the bed, moreover, had not been occupied at all. 
Under the bed, however, was a pair of shoes, 
apparently on some one's feet. I looked under 
and saw Cousin John — no, it wasn't he, for 
this man had a full beard, whereas John was 
clean-shaven the night before. But the man 
under the bed was securely bound and gagged, 
and looked decidedly uncomfortable. He tried 
to talk, but couldn't, so I pulled him out and 
loosed his bonds. He was very grateful at 
being set free, and among his many exclama- 
tions he cried out, "Why, doctor, don't you 
know your Cousin John ? " 

" Cousin John, fiddlesticks ! " I replied. 
" Cousin John was here last night, and had a 
smooth face, while you have a full beard. No 
one but Christopher Columbus could grow a 
beard like that in one night. Who are you, 
and how did you get here ? " 

" I'm your Cousin John, as I'll soon prove to 
you in relating how I got here." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 83 

" Proceed," said I, being always open to con- 
viction. 

"Well, I arrived here last night about ten 
o'clock, long before I expected when I tele- 
graphed you. I was told you would be home 
soon, so I decided to wait for you in the hall, 
near the fire. About eleven a fellow came and 
inquired for the doctor. I heard the servant 
tell him to wait in the office. Soon I fell into 
a doze, and began dreaming that I was a soldier, 
facing the Spanish guns, when suddenly I 
became aware of some one standing near me, 
and awoke to find myself looking into the 
muzzle of a revolver. 

" < Well, John, we're here at last, aren't we ? ' 
said the man at the other end of the revolver, 
pleasantly. ' I know you, and I've come all the 
way from St. Louis with you to meet you here. 
Don't look frightened, for I won't hurt you if 
you do as I say.' 

" I hardly knew what to do or say, but kept 
blinking at the pistol, when my friend drew 
several handkerchiefs from his pockets, gagged 
my mouth and bound my hands behind my back. 
" ' Now, just go up-stairs to the guest-chamber, 
if you please,' he said, following me up with the 



84 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

pistol still at my head. When we were inside 
the room he made me crawl under the bed, and 
then securely bound my feet and strengthened 
my other bonds. Then he went away, but 
came back about one o'clock, looked to see if I 
were fast, stayed about half an hour, all the 
time chuckling to himself, and then left for 
good." 

*' All right, John," I replied, "you've proved 
your identity. Your friend, who used you ill, 
palmed himself off on us as our Cousin John, 
and departed during the night with all our sil- 
ver, so let's see what can be done in the way of 
finding him." 

We notified the police, and made every possi- 
ble search, but "■ John " could not be found. 
The real John was much chagrined at the turn 
of affairs, and vowed to find the false John and 
bring him to justice. Whether he will succeed 
remains to be seen. All we ever heard of 
"John" was the following telegram received 
from New York about a month after the 
robbery : 

" Dear Cousins : — The silver was of the 
finest quality. I'm off to Europe on the pro- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 85 

ceeds. If you have any more to spare, kindly 
forward it to London as a souvenir to your 
Cousin John." 

H. Wilson Stahlnecker. 

^ Red and Blue. 

Jeems Miller^s Coortin^ 

" Weel, Jeems, an' hoo are ye the day ? I'm 
shure ye're lookin' gey happy." 

"I'm brawly, thenk ye. Tarn, an' hoo's 
yersel' .? " 

*'Ay, man, I've guid richt to be happy this 
day. An' did ye no hear aboot it } " 

" Aboot whit ? Hae ye had a fortune come 
to ye t I'm rael gled, Jeems. I s'pose ye'll be 
gaen awa' to bide amang the gentry noo. Cam- 
lachie'll no' be a bonny eneuch place for ye. 
Eh.?" 

'' Weel, Tam, it's no' juist a fortune in ae 
sense o' the word, but I'll tell ye — Meg Tam- 
son an' me's gaun to get mairrit." 

" O-o-h ! Ay an' hoo did that come aboot, 
Jeems } Naebody thocht you an' Meg was 
thick thegither." 

" Weel, I've been kin' o' castin' aboot for a 



86 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

wife for some time noo, an' at last I settled on 
Meg. I gaed to see her faither twa' three 
times, an' hintit at Meg, ye ken, till I'm shure 
she had an inklin' o' whit I was efter. I didna 
get on very quick tho', for Meg's a gey weel 
faured lass, an' I'm thinkin' she expeckit a 
better man nor me. Weel, things was juist 
aboot so so, when I gaed ower to ca' on her last 
nicht. As shune as I opened the door, there 
was Meg sittin' in front o' the kitchen grate, 
an' haudin' her face up near the fire. I thocht 
at aince she maun hae neuralgy or teethache, 
an' I felt gey bad for the puir lass, I tell ye, for 
I didna ken hoo muckle I thocht o' Meg till 
that meenit. *Ay, Meg, an' whit's the maitter, 
lass ? ' says I. She didna say a word, but I could 
see she was fell 'shamed to hae me catch her in 
sic a wy. Jock, her wee brither, cam' up . to 
the stule whaur I was sittin' an' says, *Jeems, 
Meg's got an awfu' sair teeth.' *Ay, puir 
lassie,' says I, but wi' that Meg flares up an' 
says, 'Jeems Miller, wha ast for yer peety .? 
Keep it to yersel', for I'm shure naebody here 
wants it.' Man, I was so astonish'd I could 
haur'ly speak, but at last I advised her to see 
the doctor an' hae it pu'd. Efter a while she 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE ^"J 

cam' roun' an' was quite ceevil, tho' I could see 
she could haur'ly keep frae greetin'. The 
teeth was quite lowse, so I offered to pu't 
ma'sel' wi' a bit string, but Meg wudna hear o't. 
Juist then, Jock cries oot, *Meg, tie a string 
to't, an' tie the ither en' o' the string to the bed- 
post, an' juist walk back an' it'll come oot.' 
' Havers, Jock, gae 'wa,' says I, But Meg was 
rael ta'en wi' the idea an' wantit to try't, juist 
as she used to when a wee bit lass. Weel, she 
tied ae en' o' the string • to her teeth, an' the 
ither en' to the bed-post, for she wudna let me 
touch it. But when it cam' to walkin' back, 
Meg couldna' dae't. While she was staunin' 
trirablin' an' no' lookin', I walked up to her 
quite quick like, and firm, an' afore she kent 
whit she was daein', she stepped back, an' there 
was the teeth danglin' frae the bed-post. It 
was so sudden like she begun to greet. I sent 
Jock for a ha' penny worth of sweeties, an' then 
tried to comfort her. I juist put my airm roun' 
her an' — weel, I needna' tell ye the rest, only 
we're gaun to be cried next Sunday." 

John Gowdy. 
Wesley an Literary Monthly. 



8S CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Observations* 

Try so to live that when you die even the 
undertaker will be sorry. 

A single life often ends in happiness. A 
double life often ends in prison. 

The quality of friendship is so steadfast, so 
beautiful, and so holy that it will last for a life- 
time if not asked to lend money. 

Self-love is a virtue, for he who loveth him- 
self shall have his love returned, whereas he 
who loveth another, unless he accompany it 
with an expensive bunch of double violets, 
shall go unrequited. 

Princeton Tiger. 

That Babington Affair* 

"You will pardon my being so abominably 
personal," I said to my friend Reeves, in a burst 
of confidence, as we sat smoking before the 
open fire, talking over our summer at Babing- 
ton. "But did I ever tell you the little stunt 
that happened to Miss Marston and me on the 
links last summer } " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 89 

He moved rather uneasily at the mention of 
that name, I thought, but Hstened with interest. 

"Well," I continued, '' you know that, thanks 
to your exploiting of my peculiarities and a 
natural diffidence which I must admit, I got a 
reputation with those girls for being the most 
bashful thing there ; I don't think she seriously 
believed it, though. 

*^ It was the afternoon that you were feeling 
rather rocky from meeting those Yale people 
the night before. I was much flattered when 
she accepted my services as instructor, and, with 
a few remarks as to the uselessness of engaging 
a caddy, I proudly took an armful of clubs, and 
we started. 

*' You are also aware that the Babington golf 
course was not laid out with a view to pleas- 
ing the novice. Those apple orchards and 
swamps that diversify the landscape, and the 
omnipresent Sackett brook, so dangerously 
near, are very trying. But that is neither 
here nor there. 

" Miss Marston progressed rapidly under my 
competent tuition. Going through Profanity 
Lane, we chatted about Farmington, and upon 
my remarking that I should probably see Alice 



90 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Walker in August, she exclaimed : * Why, 
really ? Do give Alice my best love ! ' 

" ' May I keep it until I see her ? ' I asked, 
rather clumsily, trying your favourite bon mot. 
But just then the lusty Mrs. Wrenn-Smith (you 
remember seeing her avoirdupois galloping over 
the links) cried ' Fore ! ' about twenty yards be- 
hind us, and we turned around inopportunely to 
see a large area of turf lose its connection. So 
my maiden effort was lost. 

" We passed ' Sleepy Hollow ' and * Despair ' 
easily, but in approaching the eighth green a 
long mashie shot sent the ball across the brook, 
where it poised defiantly. I admit I was up a 
tree. 

" * Thunder ! ' I think she said — some forbid- 
ding word of two syllables. ' How can I cross t 
There doesn't seem to be a sign of a bridge. 
And I so wanted to make this my record.' 

" * A toppy lie, and you had such a good show 
for the bogy ! Won't you allow me to carry you 
over } ' I suggested, and I swear I saw mischief 
in her look as she smiled at me and then turned 
in the direction of Mrs. Wrenn-Smith — a 
friendly hill had already managed to conceal 
that lady." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 9 1 

Reeves had removed his feet from the mantel 
early in the narrative, and now he clutched his 
chair nervously. I refused to notice this agita- 
tion, and went on : 

" I imagine Miss Marston was surprised when 
she found herself speedily transferred to the other 
side. Anyway, she played the stroke in silence. 
We recrossed as before. 

** There was rather a long pause as we walked 
up. Finally she couldn't refrain from laughing : 
' Are you the Mr. Jackson they spoke of at the 
hotel as being so unfortunately — ' 

" I supplied, * Such a bashful fool } ' and as- 
sured her the accusation was entirely just. 

" Later, as we were seated on the club-house 
porch with several others, I alluded to our expe- 
rience : * You know. Miss Marston and I had 
such an amusing adventure to-day,' I began. 

"^ Yes, and we only lost two strokes by it,' 
she deftly interposed, and commenced a discus- 
sion on the use of the niblech in putting. 

'' My reputation for diffidence continued as 
good as ever — except with one person, and on 
the whole I am glad it is that way, as she is the 
only girl — " 

Reeves leaned forward eagerly : " Eh ! You 



92 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

don't mean that you and she — But Ethel 
Marston was a corking girl — quite the queen 
at Babington. I have som^ pleasant memories 
of her myself." 

Reeves did not seem to care particularly for 
my story. I confess I was too dense to see 
why at the time, — but four months later their 
engagement was announced. I am planning a 
trip around the world — after graduation. 

John Barker. 
Williams Literary Monthly. 

A Letter Home* 

Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. 
North Dormitory, Sunday, Oct. 5th, 1898. 
Dear Mother : — Your last rec'd and read 
with delight. Went to church this morning, 
and heard a magnificent sermon by Doctor 
Drawler, of New York City. Afterward there 
was class Bible study, which is interesting for 
those of us who really want to learn. As to 
the odour of tobacco which you detected in my 
mid-week letter, it is quite possible that you 
were not mistaken. I entirely agree with your 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 93 

strictures on the vice. My room-mate, however, 
is an inveterate smoker, although otherwise a 
noble and earnest young man, just such an one, 
I think, as you would have me associate with. 
I have spoken to him on the subject along the 
line of your remarks, but you know how it is 
with a habit of that sort. Yes, I have renewed 
my Y. M. C. A. membership, and, although it 
costs me ^12.50 a term, not to mention smaller 
contributions to certain little charities which we 
are supporting, it has proved, as you predicted, 
both restful and uplifting. Church attendance 
is required, as you are aware, and this year the 
expense of filling the pulpit is met by subscrip- 
tions among the fellows. I know that you will 
be glad that I have pledged two dollars a Sun- 
day for that noble purpose, — this aside from 
pew rent, of course. Tell father, in answer to 
his inquiry, that the work is rather confining, 
but that he need not fear for my physical devel- 
opment. The Amherst gym. system takes care 
of that. No, the exercise we get is not too vio- 
lent, I received the dft. for ^150, for which 
thanks. With board at $7 per week, — which, 
really, is outrageous, don't you think .? — and my 
subscription to the Alumnus Missionary Fund, 



94 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

it all went the day I cashed it. Besides, I un- 
fortunately broke an expensive plate-glass win- 
dow in Northampton last Saturday. I tipped 
a cigar store Indian into it. The accident cost 
me ^20, but if you will send ^50 right away I 
can settle everything up, and have enough over 
to buy a new Standard Dictionary, of which I 
stand much in need. The vesper chimes are 
ringing, and as one must go early to get a seat, 
I will close now. Lovingly, William. 

Joseph W. Barr. 
Amherst Literary Monthly. 



The Complete Athlete* 

BEING A SELECTION, TREATING UPON A TRUE 
MANNER OF SPORT. 

Ancient. Heelor. 

Ancient. A good morning to you, young sir. 
If your course be toward Milford, I have well 
overtaken you, and we will go our way together. 

Heelor. Your company and discourse will be 
welcome, sir. T go indeed to Milford, and pur- 
pose to rest there some days from my studies, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 95 

and doubt not that lively talk will soon bring, us 
to the inn. 

Ancient. Tell me then, student, for such you 
seem to be, how is it with manly sport in that 
university from which you come ? 

Heelor. With your pardon, good sir, it is now 
at a height which in the days when you were a 
lusty scholar it had scarce attained. 

Ancient. It may be that you hold those days 
lightly ; but tell me, I pray you, of football. I 
held some small skill in that noble exercise, 
and would know if in this day it is played so 
well. 

Heelor. But lately we took new men, and 
have equalled those who were great in the sport. 

Ancient. And from the breadth of your 
shoulders I hold you for one learned in the game. 

Heelor. You think rightly, sir. Not a day 
but I have left my books to see the struggles 
upon our field, and cheered right lustily when 
by skill our noble team hath driven down the 
lines. 

Ancient. But for yourself, do you not run 
with the ball t 

Heelor. You forget, sir, we have a noble 
team. I cheer them on ; I have even staked 



96 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

much money upon their trials. What would 
you more ? 

Ancient. But you, scholar, trouble not to 
play. How, then, with that strenuous sport of 
rowing 1 You pull an oar with the best, I will 
be warranted. 

Heelor. In truth, good sir, the water is far 
away, and the sliding seat perplexing to the 
ignorant ; but we have a noble eight. Twice 
have I journeyed to the Thames, and heartened 
them with cheerful cries. Belike they shall win 
this year, and I gain back that which, in my 
love for the university, I do put upon their 
success. 

Ancient. But you row not, gentle scholar. 
Tell me, then, friend, for already have we come 
upon Milford Hill, you and your class do run, 
perchance, or jump at the hurdles, or bat the 
ball. In my day, though now forgotten, we 
prided ourselves, each one, that, for the love 
thereof, we partook of some healthful sport. 

Heelor. Well enough, master, and so do 
many now ; but, as there may be no doubt that 
not all of us can win a place, so, indeed, do I 
and others heel valiantly those who succeed. 

Ancient. It was not so in my day ; and, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 97 

scholar, I have thought that he who loveth sport 
will rather enter into manly pursuits, that he 
may row because it is good, and run because it 
is good, and thus find the truest service in the 
doing, not contenting himself with the watching 
alone. But here is the inn, which will put an end 
to our talk, and bring me to my journey's end. 

Heelor. And you should come to the nearest 
game. We would tell you of that doing ; and 
so, good-bye. 

Henry Seidel Canby. 

Yale Courant. 

Of Passing Moment* 

She grew to be a sort of habit with him. In 
earlier days it had been different. Even to have 
her about had irritated him ; and he had detested 
her presence as he would that of a fly or any 
live thing that made a noise. Her queer little 
face, old and dried, yet with a perk of sharpness 
to it, had seemed to him absurd. Her tiptoeing 
quickness of motion, her puffing lack of breath, 
had grated on him even while it bored him. 
Her wheezy inanities of observation on the com- 
monplaces of life were doubtless well meant ; 



98 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

but they jangled on his nerves. They struck 
him as ludicrous in their inherent uselessness. 

But all that was past. As I say, she had 
grown to be with him a habit. He liked to 
watch her. He would stare and dumbly marvel 
that a thing so withered could retain so much 
of life. He speculated on her age, wondering if 
she were forty or seventy ; he had no idea which. 
Such nervous energy of motion in one seemingly 
so old amused and puzzled him. When he be- 
gan to notice a little more closely her idiotic, 
shrunken face, he saw that the lines of it were 
kind ; and he liked her for it. When he came 
to think of it, her observations on the weather 
seemed to him harmless and well-intentioned ; 
they ceased to be a matter for irritation. He 
saw that she did her work well ; that she swept 
and dusted often ; that she kept the room clean, 
and well-ordered ; and all that in her, even apart 
from selfish reasons, he liked. He saw, too, 
that she never meddled with things of his ; that 
she threw away no papers that he might leave 
carelessly about ; that she left things where he 
wanted them, and was not arbitrary in the use 
of her power to put the room to rights. This 
also he thought to be considerate, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 99 

In time, his relations with her became a bit 
more personal. Once when he was sick she did 
him several little kindnesses, got his breakfast, 
and that sort of thing, and these he remembered. 
She came to see that he didn't care to talk ; and 
she would come in, do her work, and go away 
without a word. At length, also, he saw that 
she began to accommodate her hours of work to 
his convenience. All this in her he liked. He 
had a trick of locking himself out of his room ; 
and then he would have to hunt about for her, 
and borrow her string of keys. This always 
struck her as unspeakably amusing, and her 
toothless amusement always in turn amused him. 
Her wizened, bent little figure became to him a 
familiar sight on other landings than his own ; 
and he always grinned when she bade him good 
morning. 

Many aspects of her interested him. The 
awkward fumbling of her keys before she could 
open his door appealed to him as typical. When 
she would reach his room too early in the morn- 
ing, and find him in the act of dressing, he never 
failed to smile at the half-shocked, apologising 
abashment with which she withdrew from the 
room. When she found him not even out of 
l»i •f G. 



lOO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

bed, her bewilderment was ever new and ever 
obvious. She did some of his washing for him ; 
and the air of timid effacement, with which she 
would now and then dun him for a payment on 
account, touched him a bit even while it caused 
him to laugh. When he chanced to be in the 
room while she was putting it in order, he would 
covertly drink her in, with her look of half- 
alarm, her dimming eyes, her motions quick with 
the energy of age. He heard her wheezy puf- 
fings, her shortness of breath ; he saw her talk- 
ing in garrulous undertonings to herself ; about 
what, he wondered. 

In a half-formulated way he pitied her a little ; 
perhaps he sometimes wondered just how sordid 
and blank could be the side of her life that he 
never saw. An ill-defined impulse may have 
come to him now and again to question her 
about it. But he never did. 

One day he noticed that a different goody 
fixed his room. A little later it occurred to him 
that he hadn't seen Joan about the place for 
some days. 

On his way down-stairs he ran across Collins, 
the janitor. It occurred to him to ask Collins 
about her. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE lOI 

" By the way, Collins, where's Joan, my goody, 
these days ? " 

" Why, didn't you know ? " said Collins, with 
businesslike directness ; " she was taken sick the 
other day and died. Thought you knew." 

" No," he said, '' I hadn't heard ; " and went 
on down-stairs. 

That night at dinner the fellows at his table 
jollied him a bit about being sober — not much, 
they said, but just a little. 

Philip Greenleaf Carleton. 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Cold Bluff. 

"Whoopee!" remarked Bud, throwing his 
coat in one corner and his hat in another, '' I 
just worked the coldest game of bluff you ever 
saw." 

" Thought that was a regular thing with you," 
said Wilhe, glancing up from his desk. ''It's 
the only game you play, isn't it .'* " 

"Oh, but past experience wasn't in it with 
this. I usually don't have any luck when I try 
to bluff a Prof, in recitation, but this was a cooler. 
I made a rush and no mistake." 



I02 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"Hear the man blow," said Lem, from the 
window-seat : " Bud, you're a conceited ass. 
Tell us about it." 

" Well, you see I was dreaming away in recita- 
tion, — didn't hear a thing that was going on, — 
till all of a sudden Pete hit me a biff in the back 
and I heard the Prof, saying, ' Do you believe in 
the truth of that theory, Mr. Bud .-* ' Gee, I was 
phazed. I got up and said, * Yes, sir, I do,' with 
a lot of emphasis, just as if I had been giving 
it thought for the past week. Then he said, 
' And your reasons for it, Mr. Bud ? ' Well, I 
thought I was stumped, but I looked him sternly 
in the eye, just as if I thought he was asking un- 
necessary questions, and said, 'Why, professor, 
it struck me as the only reasonable theory,' and 
then I stuck again. Then bless his heart, if he 
didn't throw out a line and I bit. He said, 
'Then you agree with So-and-so when he said 
so-and-so ? ' I said, ' Certainly, sir,' and I re- 
peated what he said So-and-so said. Then he 
talked some more and I followed him up, and 
we two held the floor most ten minutes arguing 
it out, and when I sat down he said, * Mr. Bud, 
your position is a strong one and I heartily agree 
with you.' How's that for a rush, Willie ? " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO3 

''Nothing else," said Willie. "It seems to 
me, though. Bud, you're going to sleep entirely 
too much in recitation. Half the time I look at 
you, you're miles away." 

" Seven miles," murmured Lem, with his head 
buried in the pillows. 

Amherst Literary Monthly. 

Fable* 

Two men argued at the fork of a road. 

" One road leads to Heaven and the other to 
Hell," said the first. 

''That must be so," agreed the second. 

" The left-hand road leads to Heaven and the 
right to Hell," said the first. 

"You are wrong," said the second. "It is 
just the other way." 

" I am sure that I am right," said the first, 
" I shall take the road to the left." 

" I am sure that I am right," said the second, 
"I shall take the road to the right." 

They had gone some distance when the roads 
came together again, and the travellers found 
themselves once more in each other's company. 

" Where are we .'* " asked the first. 



I04 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" I really don't know," said the second. 
" At any rate, let us eat and drink here," said 
the first, ''for the sun is hot and I am weary." 
So they ate and drank and afterward lay down 
to sleep. 

James Owen Tryon. 
Williams Literary Monthly. 

Arcady Farewell! 

Large and primal she looked, girl with a 
woman's growth, as she swung along the moun- 
tainside with the grace of a forest Dian. I 
compared her with women elsewhere, womanish 
girls in pent-up places with their one-ness in con- 
vention. The Swiss girl's woollen skirt scarce 
covered her knees, and below it her legs showed 
bare and brown, and her footprints, by their 
lightness, barely visible in the morning sod or 
beaten path, might have marked the swiftest 
nymph in Thessaly. She crossed the last knoll 
of the foot-hills, appearing for a moment in quick 
relief against the red sky-line. Her hair, in no 
way bound, and lifting in the breeze, showed her 
neck full and straight from the crown. Disap- 
pearing, she left floating a Tyrolese air by which 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO5 

I followed her. She had turned in the village, 
and, arms akimbo, looked longingly into a 
gaudy shop where the peasants buy their 
things. Then she looked down, digging her 
toe in the sand impatiently. She passed 
through the village, and I lost her. There 
is no Arcady. And with Virgil (or any one 
else) I say that the choral ringing woods are 
gone and the virgin of the forest has run away 
with Pan. For in the dingy window what but 
a pair of shoes! Wood ones with fastenings 
of red leather ! 

F. A. L. 

Yale Literary Magazine. 

Exhibits in a Trial of Hearts* 

Exhibit A. 

February 6, 1899. 
Mr. J. HopPE : — Can't come, Jack. Heart 
broken. Will write. Mabelle. 

Exhibit B. 

February 6, 1 899. 
Miss Mabelle Prom: — Awfully sorry. 
Likewise heart broken. Jack. 



I06 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Exhibit C. 

February 6, 1899. 
Miss Isabella Dance : — ... Can't you 
come to the Hop, Friday "^ I would have written 
you long ere this, but I have been laid up with 
grippe. Do come. . . . Jack. 

Exhibit D. 

February 7, 1899. 
Mr. J. HopPE : — Will be delighted. Arrive 
at 4.58 Friday. Isabella. 

Exhibit E. 

February 9, 1899. 
Mr. J. HopPE : — Coming after all. Hurrah ! 
Arrive 5.15 Friday. Mabelle. 

Exhibit F. 

February 12, 1899. 
Mr. J. Hoppe: — 

expense account. 

Per tickets, carriages, etc., etc. . ^20.00 

Per ticket for roommate to take 

Mabelle ..... 6.00 

Per flowers, candy and other offer- 
ings to win back favour . . 50.00 

Per broken heart and personal mis- 
ery (incalculable) 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I07 

Exhibit G. 

February 12, 1899. 
Dear Mr. Hoppe : — I return your ring. 

Mabelle Prom. 

Exhibit H. 

February 12, 1899. 
Dear Mr. Hoppe : — I return your pin. 

Isabella Dance. 

Exhibit I. 
(From the Herald.) 
The engagement of Mr. J. Hoppe and Miss 
Neverdance is announced. 

Wrinkle. 

The Proprieties* 

"I don't know about that," he said. 

"I know you don't," she replied, with some- 
thing approaching asperity. " But I do. One 
must have a Httle regard for the proprieties." 

"But I can't see why — " 

" That makes little difference if I can. You 
know perfectly well that I'd love to do it." 

"Then I don't understand — " 

"Why will you persist in flaunting your 



I08 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

weakness of comprehension in my face ? It 
would be quite dark." 

" You've been down there alone when it 
wasn't any lighter. And it is the moonrise 
we were going to see any way." 

"The moonrise would be only a hundred 
yards nearer even if we did go down on the 
beach." 

" It's much better than this glary old veranda, 
though. The clean white sand and the sound 
of the breakers and the light on the water — " 

" Yes, and the nice slimy seaweed and those 
lovely squshy jellyfish and — " 

" You needn't guy a man about it. I suppose 
if you won't go I'll have to try somebody else. 
Do you fancy that Claire Vance would come ? " 

" I shouldn't wonder. Good-bye." 

" Er — a — say, Margie, hadn't you better, 
come .-* " 

" My dear — I mean, you foolish boy ! Mother 
doesn't like to have me wander off after dark 
on the beach. Besides, you're going with Claire 
Vance." 

" If I must, I must. Good-bye." 

" Good-bye." 

" Eh, Margie ? " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE IO9 

"Well?" 

" You've been down alone, haven't you ? " 

"Yes." 

" She doesn't object to that ? " 

" No. It's going off with — '* 

" The fellows. That's what I thought. Now 
if I should go down there alone. — Are you 
listening ? " 

"Yes." 

"And if you should happen to take a little 
stroll just on the breakwater — " 

"If I should." 

"Why, if I chanced to meet you, it really 
wouldn't be civil for me to pass by without a 
word, would it .-* " 

" Oh no, indeed." 

"Well, good-bye." 

" Where are you going ? " 

" I'm going to take a turn on the beach to 
see the moon rise." 

" How nice ! I may go over that way myself 
later. Good-bye." 

" Good-bye." 

p. B. 
Amherst Literary Monthly. 



I lO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Freshman Enters the Debate* 

Mr. President, Honourable Judges, Ladies 
and Gentlemen (flustered) : I beg your pardon, 
but there aren't any ladies present. The ques- 
tion before us to-night is resolved that the U. S. 
should build and maintain a much greater navy 
than at present. Remember the question. 

Now, Honourable Judges, I do not think that 
the U. S. should adopt the free coinage of silver 
at the ratio of i6 to i. Then there's Hawaii. 
I can not see that the restriction of immigration 
will do us any good, and what's the use of retain- 
ing the Philippines if we don't want them ? Mr. 
President, think of the nations of Europe ! Can 
we stand idly by .-* No ; the time for us to act 
is passed, and when we think of our national 
honour, when we think of woman suffrage, when 
we think of free trade and protection, it is then, 
Honourable Judges, that we decide that the U. S. 
should have a much greater navy than she has 
at present. I thank you. 

Wrinkle. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I 1 1 



A Cigarette^ 

Staying late one evening at the Officers' 
Club, I looked up from my paper and found 
myself alone with old Colonel Cox, every one 
else having gone home. Although I knew the 
colonel very well, I had never heard him spin a 
yarn, for which, by the way, he had quite a 
reputation. Thinking this a favourable oppor- 
tunity, I laid the paper aside and engaged him 
in conversation. I first told a story myself, as 
the conversation seemed to lag, and then asked 
the colonel for a yarn. 

"Well, if you insist," said he ; "but first give 
me a cigarette. They play a large part in my 
life, as well as in my story." 

I hastened to offer him a cigarette, which he 
lighted in a leisurely manner, and after a proper 
show of reluctance he opened fire. 

" It happened many years ago. I was then 
a first classman at the Academy,' and I regret 
to say a prominent member of the ' Immor- 
tals.' ^ I had lately been caught in various 

^ Senior at West Point. 

'^ Men of lowest possible standing. 



112 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

scrapes, and already had a ghastly array of 
demerits constantly staring me in the face. In 
fact, had I committed the slightest faux pas of 
any description at that time, I should at present, 
sir, be denied the honour of calling myself an 
officer of the U. S. Army." 

While the colonel was clearing his throat I 
hazarded the remark that his series of narrow 
escapes began early in life. 

"It was in June," he continued, without 
assenting to my remark, " I met her at the 
hop. She was of a very fine Southern family. 
Ah ! that was a great campaign. I had to fight 
with a dashing young captain for every moment 
of her society. His name was Grier. Against 
him I employed all the strategies known to 
modern warfare. He was good, but I was 
better. Then, too, you know, I was practically 
in disgrace, which of course was of the greatest 
assistance to me. The first time I met her I 
told her all about it. I told her how ' Sept ' 
Moor and 'Piggie' Perkins, unbeknown to me, 
had hauled up my chimney, for safe-keeping, a 
roasted turkey that they received from* Piggie's ' 
home, and how I got all the blame. I explained 
to her that I didn't see why they should suspect 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II3 

me, simply because half of the specimens in the 
geological collection were missing when * exams ' 
came around. Besides, there was no loss of 
property, for they were all found afterward, 
'having evidently been thrown out the window,' 
as the instructor reported." 

By this time the colonel had warmed up to 
his story, and it took only a moment to light a 
fresh cigarette, when he began again. 

" Well, I got on finely with her. The next 
day I found time to call ; and, by the way, it 
might be well to state here that I always seemed 
to be more apt at finding time than any other 
man in the Academy. As the June air was 
delightfully refreshing, I proposed a walk ; she 
acquiesced. Now, as luck would have it, I hap- 
pened to have some cigarettes about me. Cadets 
were forbidden to smoke, but as we were stroll- 
ing along a lonely part of 'Flirtation,' and she 
didn't object, I thought I'd risk it. I was to 
graduate in a few days, and if I should be 
caught — well, I shouldn't have been an officer 
to-day. I ' lit up,' and we were chatting pleas- 
antly together, when suddenly round the corner 
strode no other person than Captain Grier. I 
threw the cigarette away before he saw me, but 



114 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

it struck a tree and fell directly in the path 
between us, smoking like a Vesuvius. 

" Grier stopped, stared at me for a moment, 
then said, curtly, ' Smoking, Mr. Cox ? Con- 
sider yourself under arrest, sir, and report to 
the commandant.' 

*' I was completely dazed for a moment, as it 
dawned upon me that my one ambition, my 
whole future career, was shattered. But 
on the instant a merry little peal of laughter 
rang out beside me, and a sweet voice remarked, 
amusedly, yet reluctantly, 'Why, captain, how 
funny, 'tis / who was smoking. I just threw 
the cigarette away.' " 

After some minutes' silence, the colonel rose 
and marched toward the door. 

"Colonel," said I, *' under the circumstances 
there was but one thing for you to do. Your gal- 
lantry, you know. You should have married her." 

" Y-e-s, but you know often when I come home 
late at night — " 

He stopped, glanced suddenly at the clock, 
seized his cap, and bolted for home, remarking, 
as he slammed the door : " I'm d — ed if I agree 
with you." J. M. Parker. 

Cornell Magazine. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II5 

A Short Conversation^ 

" Why is it men are so slow to take hints ? " 
she asked, looking at him with questioning eyes. 

"Are they always?" he asked, in return, as 
though surprised. 

"Almost always. Sometimes I think they 
must be very blind indeed, or else — " 

" Or else what } " 

" They don't care. And you see it's so hard 
to decide which is true. I hate to think them 
all blind, and — " 

" I am sure they care," he interrupted. 

" Now, I once heard of a man," she continued, 
meditatively, " who was not blind, and who really 
did care. I should like to have met him." 

" Please tell me about him," he begged. 

" Well, you see he was a very nice man indeed. 
Only the girl hadn't known him very long — had 
just met him the week before, in fact, but dur- 
ing that week she had seen him almost every 
night. He was very polite and, having known 
her such a short time, was very discreet — as 
he should have been, of course," she added. 

"Of course," he repeated. 



Il6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"But one night at a dance the girl thought 
she would like him to be a little bit indiscreet, 
just a little, you know, so she gave the very 
slightest of hints." 

"What was it?" 

" She told him she liked men who weren't 
conventional, and who didn't always think of 
how things would appear, and then she asked 
him to take her out into the conservatory, and 
— well, he wasn't conventional, that's all." 

" He was just a trifle indiscreet." 

" Exactly. Of course she wouldn't have hinted 
if she hadn't rather liked the man and fancied he 
liked her." 

" I'm sure he must have liked her very much." 

"Well, he was a man who understood, you 
see. Oh, dear, there's my carriage, and I really 
must go. I'm not going to tell Arthur, though, 
for he always enjoys walking home, he says. So 
you may see me into the carriage, if you will." 

He bowed and thanked her. A few moments 
later he went down the steps with her, and to the 
carriage. 

" Isn't it a beautiful night ? " she said. " So 
cold and clear. I always feel particularly happy 
on such a night," 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II7 

"And I particularly gay," he rejoined. 

He opened the door of the carriage and helped 
her in. 

"Good night," said he, and closed the door. 

She rapped lightly on the glass. "Let the 
window down," she begged. 

When he had done so, she explained : " The 
air is so fresh I'd much rather have it blow in. 
I'm well protected, you see." 

"Yes, I see," he answered, and he put his 
head in at the window and looked at her. " Yes, 
very well protected. Good night." 

Rupert S. Holland. 

Harvard Advocate. 

Old Man. 

DuNROY looked big and wholesome as he 
came across the campus in cool ducks and 
rowing jersey that hot August afternoon. The 
rowing jersey displayed to best advantage his 
perfectly muscled arms and magnificent shoul- 
ders, and the owner of them evidently knew it, 
judging from his air of satisfaction and comfort. 
A party of summer visitors passed him, and one 
of the women turned to look. 



Il8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"That's Dunroy, the 'Varsity tackle," the 
guide explained, and then all the women fol- 
lowed the example of the first. Unconscious 
of this admiration, Dunroy turned the corner of 
Old North and narrowly escaped walking over a 
youth who wore glasses and carried a book. 

" Hello, old man — didn't know you were 
back," said Dunroy, extending his hand, which 
the other took hesitatingly. 

"We're the only people here," Dunroy con- 
tinued. " Come up and see me, won't you ? I 
am rooming over on Mercer Street." 

Old Man called that evening, and he and 
Dunroy talked over everything from football to 
faculty. When Old Man took his hat to depart, 
Dunroy volunteered to walk up-town with him. 
The street was crowded, — it was Saturday night 
when the town people promenade, — and a score 
of pedestrians stared after the football player 
longer than was consistent with good breeding. 
Old Man saw this, and he threw back his stoop- 
ing shoulders and strode along proudly. They 
had ice in a restaurant, and as they reached the 
street again, a young man with a cigarette and a 
dress-suit case pounced upon Dunroy with a joy 
that was unfeigned. Old Man went on down 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE II9 

the street toward home, and heard the man 
with the cigarette inquire, with a disagreeable 
inflection, ** Who's your friend?" He heard 
Dunroy laugh indulgently. Old Man lay awake 
that night thinking hard, and before he went 
to sleep he resolved not to visit the house on 
Mercer Street again. But when Dunroy called 
under the window next morning. Old Man 
grabbed his cap eagerly, and the two walked 
ten miles over Rocky Hill before lunch-time. 

This was the beginning of an acquaintance 
that grew very close under the soft, sleepy vaca- 
tion spell of the old campus. Each told the 
other of his hopes and aspirations, and there 
were few heart secrets of one that the other did 
not know. Old Man was happy in Dunroy' s 
confidence ; but sometimes, when they loafed 
in the shade of a campus elm, dreaming away 
the quiet summer afternoon, or tramped with 
cleek and niblech across the golf links, he 
doubted. 

One week there was unusual stir among the 
University minions ; the dormitory doors stood 
open, and Biddies with brooms and bunches of 
keys waited about the entries. With suit-cases 
and Freshman brothers, with song and joyous 



I20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

greeting, the students returned. Old friend- 
ships were cemented for another happy year, 
and after a week of confusion the University 
settled into its accustomed routine. The foot- 
ball men came back a few days earlier, and then 
it was that Old Man began to miss Dunroy. 
There were no more cross-country walks, no 
more tennis games, and Old Man was lone- 
some. The only time he saw Dunroy was 
when he went down to 'Varsity field to watch 
practice. One night after college was opened 
he climbed the stairs to Dunroy's room. There 
were a number of classmates there whom Old 
Man knew by sight. Dunroy introduced him 
to the crowd with careless grace ; but Old Man 
went away soon. They seemed too happy. 

The next day Old Man passed Dunroy, who 
was coming from Prospect with a crowd of fellow 
club-men. Dunroy, with his arm on another's 
shoulder, was deeply engaged in conversation, 
and did not hear Old Man's salutation. Again 
they met, face to face on the stairs in Dickin- 
son ; but Dunroy was hurrying to a class, and 
did not see Old Man or the look of appeal in his 
eyes. Five minutes later, in the solitude of his 
room. Old Man buried his face in a pile of sofa- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 121 

pillows and sobbed bitterly. He cut classes 
all that day, and when night came, and the gas- 
lights flickered in his entry, he did a very foolish 
thing. 

It was time for all football men to be in bed 
when Dunroy hurried across Nassau Street 
toward the campus. At the gate he noticed 
a group of men and paused. 

" Don't say anything about — please don't," 
said a voice, entreatingly ; *' he never did it 
before." 

Dunroy drew near. In the midst of the 
group he saw Old Man was hatless, a wild, 
fearful look shone from his wandering eyes, 
and tears ran down his cheeks. A hard-faced 
proctor confronted the three. 

Dunroy regarded Old Man with an expression 
of amusement and contempt. 

" I didn't think it of you," he said. *' You're 
a fool." And he walked away whistling. 

Leonard H. Robbins. 
Nassau Literary Magazine. 



122 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Shooting of Barrows, Freshman* 

Jim Barrows was a fair student and an 
influential Senior, but had been a very green 
Freshman. As he had come from somewhere 
back in the woods and had almost wholly pre- 
pared himself, the ideas he brought to college 
were extraordinary. Freshman year he roomed 
on the lower floor front of Rood House. Some 
Seniors and a "Medic." had the rooms where 
the coop store now is. Jim always had to touch 
his hat to the Seniors, and had to call the Medic. 
" Doctor." 

He had not been in town a month before an 
incident occurred whose memory stuck to him 
through his whole course. His neighbours had 
filled him with hazing yarns until, stout-hearted 
as he was, he really despaired of getting through 
college alive. 

One evening three Sophomores were return- 
ing late from a partridge hunt over back of 
Norwich. Aside from a few hard green apples, 
they had nothing to show for their tramping. 
As they were wearily trudging by Rood House, 
they espied the unfortunate Jim standing be- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 23 

tween his lamp and the wide-open window. His 
back was toward them and his shoulders were 
bare. The night was dark. One man quietly 
cocked his gun, another selected a very hard 
apple, the third counted, "one, two, three." 
Bang, went the charge of shot in the air, 
while the well-thrown apple smacked stingingly 
between Jim's shoulders. 

He didn't make a sound, just turned the most 
pitiful-looking face to the window, and then 
rushed across the hall. "They've done it at 
last," he gasped, bursting in upon the Seniors. 
" Where's the doctor t I'm shot, I'm shot. You 
fellows explain it all to mother, how a man has 
to run his chances when he goes to college." 

A full explanation appeared in the next issue 
of the ^gis. 

F. V. Bennis. 
Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 

An Alien^ 

" Throw up your hands, there ! " 

The answer was the flash and crack from 
three rifles. A trooper lurched forward heavily 
over his horse's neck. 



124 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Fire ! " cried the sheriff. 

The Boy sighted along his gun-barrel as coolly 
as though he were at home on his grandfather's 
farm, shooting at a mark. All three men on 
the opposite bank fell. Two struggled to rise, 
but one lay motionless. The troopers splashed 
into the ford, the Boy following them. An 
excitement such as he had never felt before 
had succeeded his calmness. The sheriff bent 
over the dead man. 

" Charlie Kirk ! " he exclaimed, "the leader of 
the whole gang. He's your man too, sonny," 
turning to the Boy. *' Only one of your slugs 
could make that," and he pointed to a hole in 
the man's forehead from which the blood was 
oozing, drop by drop. The Boy looked at the 
dead face. It was young and handsome, and 
the repose of death gave it a refinement, 
almost a nobility, which it might have lacked 
in life. 

" Did I do that ? " muttered the Boy, thickly. 

" Makes you feel sort of winded, don't it .'' " 
said the sheriff. " I recollect the first time I 
knocked over a man myself. But you needn't 
cry much over kzm. He's the biggest horse- 
thief in Arizona, and I reckon he's plugged 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 25 

several of that kind of holes in the citizens of 
these parts." 

The Boy mounted his horse unsteadily. " I 
guess I'll go up to camp," he said, and, paying 
no heed to the sheriff's laugh, he rode into the 
ford again. 

As the Boy wound slowly up the trail he 
wondered if it could be only two months since 
he was mowing hay on the old farm in New- 
Hampshire, and moving his scythe carefully lest 
he should hurt some of the many little crea- 
tures that live in the meadows. To-day he had 
killed a man as indifferently as he would have 
shot a squirrel. What was it to him if the man 
was a horse-thief ? He had not stolen his horse. 
In New Hampshire horses were not considered 
of so much more value than men. 

When he looked up at last he saw that he was 
on a new trail, leading over a part of the moun- 
tain unknown to him. All about him was the 
dark, solemn mountain, without sign of civilisa- 
tion except one cabin in the bend of the trail. 
Flowers blossomed in the plot around it, vines 
twined over the little porch, and white curtains 
fluttered at the windows. Homesick tears filled 
the Boy's eyes, it was all so cheerful and happy 



126 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

in the midst of that dreary land. A woman 
stepped into the trail from the open door. She 
was young and sweet-faced. The late sunlight 
made her brown hair gleam like bronze and 
touched her cheeks with rose. Her eyes, as 
she lifted them to the Boy, were as soft and 
innocent as a little child's. The Boy gave a 
great sigh like one awakening from an evil 
dream ; life out in the far, strange country was 
not all violence and death. 

" Good evening, stranger, won't you 'light ? " 
said the woman. " We'll have some supper as 
soon as my husband comes. I'm waiting for 
him now. Maybe you passed him ? His name's 
Charlie Kirk." The hand on the horse's bridle 
twitched violently and a fierce trouble leaped 
into the Boy's eyes, but his voice was steady as 
he answered, " No, ma'am, I ain't ever known 
him. I've got to be pushing on, thank you ! " 

As he spurred his horse down the trail, 
although he did not know it, he was the Boy 
no more. 

Grace Margaret Gallaher. 

Vassar Miscellany. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 27 



At the End of It. 

Sometimes it is the college life that brings 
out in a man's four years the best that is in 
him ; sometimes it is the struggle for college 
life. I have known men to sing and whistle 
away their dinner-hour, lest others returning 
well filled should think them hungry. I have 
known men to grind out good mathematics 
under the impetus of a gnawing abdomen ; to 
grow harsh and disagreeable under the double 
strain, and yet withal to retain a tender feehng 
for the college mother. It was the last night of 
the year, with the big hall deserted and lone- 
some, that one such man came into my room, 
and strolling to the window looked out into the 
darkness of the court below. I knew he did 
not wish to talk, so I left him to himself. His 
story I knew too well. 

He had entered college an unknown Fresh- 
man ; he had waited on table for his board ; he 
had passed papers for his room rent ; had gone 
on to the gridiron in the afternoon, and studied 
late into the night. After two years the honours 
came, first the '' S," then the captain of it, but 



128 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

even that could not atone for the hardships still 
pressing. A 'Varsity captain must live, and the 
bigger he is the more he must eat. In the last 
days he was a hero, but his previous struggle 
made light the honour he should have felt. 
" Let's go and get drunk," he said, at last, turn- 
ing suddenly. I was trying to solve him, and 
was finding the problem hard. I laid my pipe 
away and took down my hat without replying. 
He opened the door and we went out. A hun- 
dred yards down the road he stopped. " I don't 
want to get drunk," he said; "I've never been 
drunk in my four years. Let's steal fruit — any- 
thing — I can't stand it." We started toward 
the orchards, known of old to the Phi-Phis, but 
we had not gone far when he stopped again. 

" I'm going to bed, old man," he exclaimed, 
and turned about. I was still studying him,- 
when he opened the conversation. 

" I haven't any blankets to-night," he began ; 
" they are in my trunk, and my trunk is in Palo 
Alto. As I spent my first night, when the 
student's transfer forgot my trunk, so I spend 
my last one, — between the mattresses." 

"My roommate is away," I said; "take his 
bed." So it was agreed. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 29 

We reached the hall, and, turning down the 
dark passage, climbed the stairs to my room. 
At the entrance he stopped and spoke. He 
began harshly, but before he finished speaking 
his voice broke. 

" I'm not going to sleep here," he said. " I'm 
going to my own room. It's the last — night 
— and — I'll not be here again." 

An hour later, taking some bedclothes in my 
arms, I slipped around to his room and quietly 
opened the door. In the middle of the room 
was the bed, and between the mattresses a 
figure. 

" I brought you some bedclothes," I began. 

" Go 'way, Ham," he said. " I don't want 
them." 

I left him and closed the door, and he was 
alone with his room, 

J. R. Hamilton. 

Stanford Sequoia. 

Told by the Doctor* 

Doctor B. never partook of our hospitality 
without duly rewarding us with a story, usually 
a personal experience ; and as he had spent a 



130 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

large part of his life in India, as surgeon in 
the British army, the tales were varied and 
exciting. 

We had been discussing the possibility of 
death caused by fright, and some one had made 
the statement that it was all foolishness to 
believe that a man was ever killed in that way. 

"I know better," said the doctor. *' Listen 
to this little incident of my life in India, and 
then see what you think about it. 

"We had just finished tiffin, and were sitting 
around the table trying to keep cool. We con- 
versed in a desultory fashion, until we got started 
on the subject of snakes, when young J. stated 
that he had been in India six months, and as yet 
had not seen a cobra. 

" * What would you do, if you suddenly became 
aware that a cobra was crawling across your- 
leg ? ' I idly asked. 

" * Do .? Why, I'd knock it off like a flash, and 
shoot it.' 

" 'You'd be a fool if you did,' said old Major 
C, as he tipped back his chair, and thrust his 
arm through the open window, resting it on the 
sill. 

" ' Well, then, what would j/ou do ? ' asked J. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I3I 

" * Sit still till he'd crawled off, and then shoot 
him,' said the major. 

" ' There isn't a man living who has the 
nerve — ' 

"*For God's sake don't move, major,' I inter- 
rupted, in a whisper ; ' don't stir, don't breathe ; 
there's one of those devils crawling up your arm.' 

"The major turned a shade paler, but sat like 
a statue carved from stone ; not a muscle in his 
face moved, and he scarcely seemed to breathe. 
J. and I were almost as still, as we watched the 
devilish, beautiful thing with a sort of fascination. 
It seemed unaware of our presence, and glided 
slowly along the man's arm, over his shoulder, 
and across his breast, stopping from time to 
time, and swaying its head gracefully from side 
to side. 

" The suspense was horrible, but we could do 
nothing, as the slightest movement on our part 
meant death to our companion. At last the 
creature slid slowly down to the ground, and had 
glided half-way to the door, when J. suddenly 
drew his revolver, and fired, blowing the brute 
to atoms. 

*V' You have wonderful nerves, major,' I said, 
turning with a sigh of relief. He made no reply. 



132 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

but sat staring straight ahead, with fixed, glazed 
eyes. I touched his hand, but drew away in 
horror, for it was rigid. 

"And that," said the doctor, *'is how I know 
that death can be caused by fright." 

The Tech. 

Overheard — In Arcady? 

" Well, now, I think — " 

" Oh, Lord ! Be quiet, will you t Think ! 
Keep thinking ! " 

" I was going to say that I think — " 

" But you don't think. You only think you 
think." 

" Bah, lad. You talk like a Shakespeare fool 
at his worst." 

" And you — you talk like Hall Caine at his 
best. Now, let me work." 

" Well, as I was going to say — " 

"That's better! Oh, Lord, that's better! 
* Going to say ! ' A moment ago you were 
going to think. But whatever you're going to 
do, leave me out of it." 

« Well — " 

" Shut up ! " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 33 

" I was going to say — '* 

" Again ? " 

" I've got to be going along." 

" How ? What ? Don't be an ass, man. I'll 
be through this stuff in a couple of minutes, and 
then we'll hit up the pipe and sherry. Sit down ! 
Well, if you won't, go to the devil. Good night, 
Mike." 

Harvard Advocate. 



Fable of the Two Men and the 
Pomegranate* 

Now it happened once upon a time that two 
young men were travelling along a country road 
and conversing of ambition. The one said, " I 
am ever striving for lofty ideals and high favours, 
for 'tis only thus that one can become President." 

The other said, " I take what fortune throws 
into my lap. The paths of glory lead but to the 
undertaker's, and I'm a democrat, anyway." 

Now they had not gone many paces when they 
saw by the roadside a pomegranate-tree with a 
single pom hanging from a lofty branch. 

" I wish that I had it," sighed the fellow. 



134 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

**I, too, wish it," said the other, "but I do 
more than idly wish. Behold ! " So saying, 
he climbed into the tree after it. But just as he 
was about to grasp it the wind swayed the 
branch, the fruit fell, and the fellow below 
caught it and ate it. 

IMMORAL. 

Caesar was ambitious. What's the use, any- 



way ? 



Princeton Tizer. 



<b' 



Unavailable* 

The two subsequent tales were perpetrated 
by a secret concentration of several " Courant 
stories." In a manner they are epitomes of the 
sort of thing it doesn't pay to "hand in." 

This is one sort : 

It was an awf'ly fine day. Really delicious. 
There were lots of pretty girls about. And a 
soft, balmy breeze was sighing in the trees. The 
girls were very pretty. It was distracting. So 
thought Archibald Waters. Archibald threw 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 35 

aside his book with a muttered curse. He could 
see the pretty girls from his window. And he 
knew that a balmy breeze was sighing through 
the trees, 

*' Oh," he sighed, pacing his room like a 
panther, and again, "Oh." Suddenly his face 
grew diabolic. His white lips curled back from 
his clenched teeth. *' Darn it ! " he cried aloud 
in anguish. Suddenly he staggered backward. 
He pressed his hands to his fevered brow. He 
was thinking of his mother. Etc. 

This is the other sort : 

The prairie rolled away. Distant grumblings 
of thunder grumbled. It was going to rain. 

My little mustang was nervous. And I, 
although I have seen so many horrible things, 
ah ! so very many horrible things, I too was 
nervous. A premonition that something hor- 
rible was going to happen came over me like 
a flash. It was horrible ! 

My hair rose swiftly, and I glanced at my 
Indian guide, who was riding sullenly at my side, 
as he had done for many, many miles, saying 
nothing, but looking surly and sullen, and so 



136 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

murderous that I had already frequently cursed 
my childlike foolishness in taking unto myself 
such a devil, such a brute, such a — Suddenly 
it began to rain, and fearing if it continued we 
would get wet, I dismounted from my little 
mustang, who was appearing still more nervous, 
as if she, too, felt the fell clutch of the horrible 
premonition which had come over her beloved 
master like a flash. 

We encamped. The prairie rolled away. It 
rained, ah ! so drearily. 

I turned to my Indian guide. 

He was not there ! 

So it was true ! 

Something had happened. 

Etc. 

These two may be classed as the '' Lyric 
Love," and the '' Epic Indian." They are fre- 
quently astonishing ; but they do not interest 
a sufficiently large number of readers. This is 
our sole objection to them. 

Samuel G. Camp. 

Yale Courant. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 37 

A Queen* 

He loafed into the room, slumped into the 
window-seat and gazed reflectively at the last 
faint traces of a once gorgeous sunset. In the 
silence that followed, I suppose he thought that 
he was communing with me, for we are believers 
in that poetic creed. But I was worrying over 
a cash book with two ends that couldn't be per- 
suaded to meet, and the golden medium didn't 
work. He heaved a sigh or two, — to no avail, 
for I was chasing an errant thought, — and 
finally spoke in tragic tones : 

" She's a queen ! " 

^'No doubt." 

" But she'd show a good head if she wouldn't 
come over to any more football games." 

"No doubt." (I was making a mental tour 
of all the stores in town now, and had worried 
the difference down to less distressing dimen- 
sions.) 

"There are two things an average girl can't 
do — " 

"More than that." 

" One is to preserve her beauty in the surf, 



138 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

and the other is to show intelHgence on the side 
lines." 

" No doubt." (It was a mere matter of dimes 
now and I rejoiced that the end was near.) 
There was an ominous silence followed by a 
thud as a pillow landed. I gave up the chase 
and paid undivided attention. 

" Give me no more of your doubts and no 
doubts," he said. " What I want is a little sym- 
pathy. Got her well seated on the stand, and just 
began to give her a pointer or two, when she waxed 
poetical. Said the five-yard marks reminded her 
of the first verse in *Tosti's Farewell.' " 

" How's that .? " 

" * Lines of white on a sullen sea ! ' Didn't 
like the uniforms as well as white ducks and 
cheviots. Wanted to know why they kept stop- 
ping to stand up in those funny rows. Won- 
dered why we didn't kick a goal from our own 
ten-yard line. Noticed that one of them hit 
another when he didn't need to. And finally 
crooned for joy when a run of fifty yards was 
made around our left end." 

"Well, it's all over now," I said, in attempt 
to comfort him. " You won't have to go through 
it again." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 39 

"Yes, I will, too," he said, quickly. And then 
he tried to look unconcerned : 

^^ Oh! — you will?" 

But he went away. Just because I laughed, 
I suppose. But he's right. She is a queen. 

Amherst Literary Monthly. 

At Mott Haven. 

The race had started. Before I had time to 
notice anything — before my brain had recovered 
from the strain of listening for the pistol — we 
all rose mechanically to the first hurdle. Then 
ideas began to flash in, clear and distinct. Be- 
fore the second hurdle I realised that I was 
behind, and even recognised my opponents, 
partly by remembering their positions at the 
start, partly by noticing their peculiar gaits. 
There was Bright ; and, to my left, Stevens ; be- 
yond him, the six-feet-four of Heard, — two from 
Yale, she had one place sure. At the third 
hurdle I was still behind, but gaining ; last year, 
too, they were all ahead of me for half the race. 

The fourth flight : I could hear the crowd 
yelling, and could distinguish my name in the 
babel. One voice, puzzlingly familiar, rose 



140 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

above the others in a cry of " Harvard." Weeks 
afterward, a friend surprised me (for he is 
not usually interested in athletics) by men- 
tioning that he had seen the race. At once 
I was back on the track and hearing his 
"Harvard." 

At the fifth hurdle — half-way through the 
race — we were all abreast. She said they had 
seats opposite the hundred finish ; that was the 
next flight ; but I remembered how Conant fell 
last year, and did not dare look round even to 
see if she was wearing that bit of ribbon. Yet 
I must have begun to dream of last winter, of 
the dances before I went into training, for all at 
once there were only two hurdles in front of me. 
How like clock-work the long weeks' training 
had made the motion. Seven steps and a — 

And then I felt some one spurting behind me 
on my left — that must be Stevens. I had 
never run against him before ; if he should 
prove a strong finisher ! Bright noticed his 
spurt, too, and tried to equal him. But, instead, 
he weakened terribly, and fell behind over the 
ninth hurdle. 

That was my time, I knew. With the extra 
effort came a sense of exhilaration. How easy 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I4I 

it had been to clear the ninth flight, and what a 
pleasure it was to run ! 

Yet how odd it all was, — the judges and 
timers pressing forward around the finish-line, 
the crowd cheering and excited, and we four 
running and jumping bars of wood placed in our 
path. Why did we do it ? . . . 

The last flight of all, and then the twenty- 
yard sprint, straight at the crowd on the track, 
the snapping of the tape across my chest, and 
friends grasping my hand. 

J. W. HOPFORD. 

Harvard Advocate. 

Metamorphosis* 

Two years ago she flunked lightly through 
Trig. I sat back of her all that quarter, and 
worshipped the underneath of her chin, her 
hair, her choking collar, her wee, wee waist, and 
her swagger little Oxfords. I, with the rest of 
the men, did her homage, knelt to her, and 
burnt incense in unobtrusive silence. She was 
to me the very essence of light fun and sweet 
feminine caprice. She footed it so neatly through 
her cobwebby loves and gaieties. 



142 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

To-day I saw her with her husband. She is 
still that striking thing, — a woman with a beau- 
tiful back, who does not shock you when she 
turns around. But I surprised in her eyes, with 
the glance of recognition, a look so grave and 
sad that I wondered if she found life a Strauss 
waltz, — bubbling foam above and heaven knows 
what briny bitterness beneath. 

A. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

Two and Two* 

" Dick," she said, arching her eyebrows, " do 
you really love me .? " 

** By the eternal stars ! " I cried. 

" If you swear such oaths, I shall be afraid 
you're trying to convince yourself," she re- 
marked, lifting her chin at a high angle. 

I kissed her. 

"Why did you dance so often with Alice 
Weston last night ,-* " she said, with a pout. 

" She is the best dancer here," I answered. 

" Oh, is she .? " 

" Ah, sweet, is it worth while to say that two 
and two make four t Always excepting you." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 43 

" Sha'n't I fill your pipe for you ? " she said. 
That is what she always does when she is 
pleased. I gave it to her. She very slowly 
packed the tobacco into the bowl with her little 
finger. I had once been foolish enough to tell 
her she never looked quite as pretty as when 
she was doing that. 

"Yes," I answered, when she handed me the 
pipe at length, "it is certainly true." 

" What .? " she queried. 

"I don't think you would be interested," 
said I. 

" Oh, if you adopt that tone, I'm going," she 
said, fastening two large blue ribbons under her 
chin. 

"Would you like to know ^ " I asked. 

"Good-bye," she answered, with a radiant 
smile. 

"Well, then," I said. 

" Well, then ? " 

" Oh," said I, " I was merely thinking that, 
after all, I am really quite fond of you." 

She gave vent to a little laugh. " Two and 
two always did make four," said she. 

T/ie Morningside. 



144 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Man from Yale^ 

I ALWAYS pitied Tom, because he had such 
hard luck with his love affairs. He was con- 
tinually getting smitten with some girl, going 
through the usual agonies of doubt, jealousy, 
and all that ; and then, finally disillusioned, he 
would settle down to sensible life till the next 
girl came along, which was generally in about 
six months. I hadn't laid eyes on the man for 
two years ; and when I met him at the club, 
one afternoon last November, — it was the day 
before Thanksgiving, — his cheery " Hello, old 
man ! By Jove ! but I'm glad to see you ! " 
sent the old-time enthusiasm of a college friend- 
ship like a thrill into my heart. He looked 
robust and hearty ; no more nonsense about 
girls for him, I opined. 

Then he began : " Do you know, old man," 
with a rather quizzical look, " I was pretty hard 
hit last summer." 

His face bore the old confidential expression, 
and my heart sank. I knew I'd got to listen, 
so I started a fresh pipe and leaned comfortably 
back. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 45 

" I met lots of girls last summer. There was 
a girl at Bar Harbour, who seemed afterward 
to be so sweet on that Harvard chap, — I've 
forgotten his name, ~ but she didn't count. 
Neither did that blonde at Marblehead, who 
used to go saiHng with Jim Trask so much. 
You remember Jim, —big, dark-skinned fellow, 
who played on the 'Varsity when Thomas was 
captain. The girl I mean was the one at Isles- 
boro, — lovely soft brown hair, and great deep 
eyes that looked you right through ; you know 
the kind. 

« We seemed to get along well from the very 
first. I remember I danced with her four times 
the first night I met her, and got myself dis- 
liked for it by all the other men. Jealous, you 
see. That didn't bother me any, nor her, for 
that matter, for we used to have most of the 
dances together at every hop. We went to 
walk a lot, too, and — well, hang it, you know 
how a fellow gets to feeling when he is thrown 
much with a nice girl. I cared for her a great 
deal. I had been soft on girls before," — charm- 
ing frankness, I thought, — ^' but this was so 
different," — like all the rest, I contradicted 
mentally. 



146 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Of course everybody made a pile of talk, 
but I was the happiest man in all Maine, till 
along came a man from — " 

" Let me finish your yarn for you. Along 
came a man from Yale." 

" Yes ; I'believe he was a Yale man, but — " 

" No buts, please. This Yale man was good- 
looking ? " 

*^Yes." 

"Athletic?" 

" Rather." 

" Got quickly into her good graces — " 

"Wait, I tell you. He — " 

" No, I'll go on. They were together a great 
deal .? " 

" Now, see here, you're the biggest — " 

"And I dare say he used to take her hand 
now and then ? " 

" You're a perfect ch — " 

" Even kissed her ? " 

Tom looked as though he would have liked to 
eat me. I was simply taking the wind out of 
his sails, and he didn't like it. 

"And was always the last one to say good 
night to her, — in short, cut you out entirely, 
and was safe at last in calling her his own. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I47 

Honestly, old man, I'm dead sorry for you. 
I've been used that way myself." 

I smiled good-naturedly. I dearly love to 
spoil a man's story, though it's mean, I admit. 

Tom looked hard at me for a minute. 

" You're a born fool ! " he said, deliberately. 
" If you'll let me, I'll finish my story myself, 
and finish it straight ; and if you'll take dinner 
with me to-morrow I'll prove it." 

" Delighted, I'm sure ! " 

*^Now," said he, "I married that girl last 
October. That Yale man was her father, Class 
of '69." 

And I didn't say a thing. 

The Tech. 

The Hazing of Sammy* 

The first Monday in September came at last. 
Sammy Mosely had looked forward to it with 
great eagerness ; for it was to be an important 
day in his life. It was to be his fifth birthday ; 
he was to graduate from petticoats into trousers, 
and he was to begin his career at the district 
school. 

It seemed to Sammy that half -past eight would 



148 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

never come. He tramped impatiently about the 
sitting-room, every now and then casting a shy 
glance of approval at himself in the glass. He 
certainly did look attractive. His new suit fitted 
him well, his new necktie was a beautiful shade 
of red, and his round, freckled face shone with 
soap and satisfaction. 

At last his mother told him he might start 
for school. She stood in the door and watched 
him proudly as he went down the path. He 
had a red apple clutched tightly in one hand. 
Under his arm he carried a new slate, with a 
sponge and a slate-pencil tied to its frame by 
a long pink string. He marched bravely along 
undaunted by fears of anything that the new 
experience might bring him. His mother had 
offered to go with him, since this was his first 
morning, but her offer had been a blow to his 
pride and he had refused indignantly. There had 
been signs of a tempest of tears, so she had hastily 
withdrawn her offer, but her assurance for his 
well-being was by no means so great as his own. 

" Sammy," she had said, impressively, as he 
was about to start, " I want you to let the big 
boys alone. Just so sure as you don't you'll 
come to trouble." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 49 

With a beaming face, Sammy had promised. 
His mother watched him out of sight, then 
she returned to the kitchen to her Monday's 
washing. 

Some time later, as she was putting up her 
clothes-Une in the yard, her attention was at- 
tracted by loud, heart-broken sobs. She recog- 
nised the voice and hurried to the gate. Her son 
was coming up the path ; all his manhood gone. 
His collar was half off. The shine had disap- 
peared from his face, and the apple from his 
hand. The slate he still carried, but the 
sponge and a broken slate-pencil dangled de- 
jectedly from the string. 

" Sammy," said his mother, in sorrowful, 
sympathetic reproof, "why couldn't you keep 
away from the big boys ? " 

" O — O — " sobbed Sammy, in a louder 
burst of grief and rage, " I d-d-did ! b-but the 
b-big girls k-kissed me." 

Harriet Goodrich Martin. 

Smith College Monthly. 



150 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



A Dangerous Room-mate^ 

A CREW man, when delirious, makes an un- 
pleasant room-mate. Last spring, during a bad 
case of grippe, Tom went off his head ; after 
tearing our rooms to pieces generally, he threw 
me violently against the door and got into bed. 
Then he tucked his feet under the lower bar 
of the foot of his bed and began rowing "to 
beat the band." Shouts, water, light could not 
stop him, and as for physical effort — I weigh a 
hundred and twenty-three ! He worked away 
for five minutes, and would have kept it up still 
longer had I not thought of reducing him sud- 
denly to a state of collapse by a sharp " Let 'er 
run ! 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Scene on a Kansas Ranch. 

I COULD see nothing but a field of alfalfa 
which stretched away and away into a wooded 
ravine somewhere off on the horizon. All 
around were low wooden triangles, for what, 
I did not know. Before I had time to ask I 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I5I 

saw several men coming with five wagons loaded 
with ground corn, which the men unloaded and 
put in the triangles. Then they began a loud, 
penetrating call which sounded like " Houpee, 
houp-ee, h-o-u-p-e-e ! " In a twinkling there 
formed on the woody horizon a big black cloud 
which came toward us with marvellous rapidity, 
and quickly resolved itself into a large drove of 
little pigs running along on fast pattering hoofs. 
They squealed and squealed and grunted ; they 
fell down, rolled over, threw each other down ; 
they piled themselves three deep in their efforts 
to get at one trough. At last they were dis- 
tributed, and when we drove away we left six 
hundred and seventy-five little black noses 
burrowing in ground corn, and six hundred and 
seventy-five throats grunting with satisfaction. 

K. M. D. 

Wells College Chronicle. 

Dead Broke* 

Through the open transom, we could hear 
him tramp up the stairs and knock at the first 
door he came to. 

" I wanted to see," he apologised, *' if you 



152 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

would help the crew out financially. We've 
got to raise — " 

" Oh, I'm dead broke ! " 

" That's the common cry, but the fellows 
ought to support athletics." 

" Well, come in. I can't do much for you." 

The door of the unlucky room shut with a 
thud, and we could hear the distant confusion 
of voices within. 

Presently, all along the corridor, doors opened 
softly, and the inmates of six rooms found busi- 
ness which called them away for some time, for 
they all put out their lights before they slipped 
down the stairs. 

Harvard Advocate. 

The New Term* 

"Well," said the Soph, coming into the 
Senior's room, *'we are really back, aren't 
we } " 

" Oh, very much so," said the Senior, grimly. 
She was sitting on the floor by her trunk, with 
various articles spread around her, and she looked 
hot, and just a trifle cross. The Soph, on the 
contrary, looked cool and sweet-tempered. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 53 

" I can hardly realise that the new college 
year has really begun," she said, cheerfully. 

"Well, really — have you unpacked? That 
brings it home to me. And if you want to 
make it still more real, go and wrangle with 
the authorities about your schedule, and then 
go down-town and pay eight dollars for your 
books, merely as a starter." 

" I have a bill, thank goodness," said the Soph, 
fanning languidly with a note-book. "And I 
like getting my books. I always feel as if I 
were going to do such a lot of work." 

" I know," assented the Senior, rising with 
an armful of clothes. " Oh, bother ! pick up 
that pile of handkerchiefs, Mary. Yes, one 
does feel that way. I always like to fix my 
schedule." 

" If only the feeling would last ; but it's gen- 
erally pretty well gone by December." 

" Yes," said the Senior, again. " Unfortu- 
nately, enthusiasm does turn into stupid grind- 
ing, doesn't it .-^ " 

"One doesn't keep on seeing the good of it 
all," said the Soph, regretfully. 

"Lest we forget, lest we forget," quoted the 
Senior, sitting down on the edge of the trunk. 



154 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" But I suppose the enthusiasm of the beginning 
ought to give one impetus enough to get over 
the dull parts." 

"After coasting down one hill, one oughtn't 
to mind pushing up the next." 

"And, after all, there do come nice, level 
places, where there's just work enough to be 
pleasant," said the Senior, carrying on the fig- 
ure. " You just have to take it as it comes. Of 
course, the sandy places, and the muddy ones, 
and the stony ones, are disagreeable, but I've 
found it's best to keep pedalling on. You see, 
you've either got to go on, or fall off, and the 
former is generally safer and pleasanter, and 
saves time." 

" Don't you think there's some way of spread- 
ing the freshness of the beginning out thin, to 
last over the session ? " asked the Soph, after a 
few moments' silence. 

" No ; I don't believe there is. The novelty 
is bound to wear off." 

" But one misses so much." 

"Yes, the only thing I know is to try and 
think of the ultimate object when things seem 
tiresome, and freshen up one's ardour by realis- 
mg It. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 55 

"And it is — ?" 

" My dear, if you have heard commencement 
addresses and baccalaureate sermons, and have 
read numberless essays on the * College Girl,' 
without discovering that, I pity your obtuse- 
ness. Can't you recall that much-used phrase, 
an all-round girl, or to put it more elegantly, a 
symmetrically developed woman ? " 

"I seem to have heard it," admitted the 
Sophomore. ** Oh, dear ! if one could only 
keep up to the point one gets to occasionally, 
when it is impossible to aim at anything lower 
than a star ! " 

" One could hit higher things than trees, 
then," said the Senior, fishing the last articles 
out of her trunk. " But, after all, it's the daily 
round that makes up the aggregate, and though 
that's bound to be humdrum in the very nature 
of things, it can be turned to good account, if 
the light from one's star is only strong and 
steady." 

'' And to keep it so t " 

"Why, choose the right sort of star, and 
make yourself keep on caring for it. Here's 
my cap. Don't I make a nice Senior } " 

"You'll be cross-eyed before Christmas," 



156 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

laughed the Soph. " Let me show you how / 
look. Oh, dear, there's the dressing bell ! " 

"That old familiar sound ought to make you 
feel at home," said the Senior, as she closed her 
trunk with a bang. 

" Just what it doesnt do," answered the 
other, and she ran off, whistling " Home, 
Sweet Home." 

Louisa B. Gambrall. 

The Kalends. 

Inklings* 

"Mirror," said the beauty, "teach me the 
secret of unconsciousness." 

" Never look me in the face again," reflected 
the mirror. 

One day Pride stumbled over Happiness. 
"What is this in my way .'* " she asked. 

" If you would look down you could see me," 
was the answer. 

" There is the light of immortal beauty glow- 
ing from your eyes," sighed the bankrupt suitor 
to the ugly heiress. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 57 

" Are you sure it doesn't come from my dia- 
mond earrings ? " she asked, innocently. 

Fear gazed into the fierce waves where Joy 
was tossing. " I dare not go," he cried. 

Suddenly Love stood by his side and touched 
him. It was Courage that leaped into the wave. 

" Emerson says, ' Hitch your wagon to a star ; ' 
but what if the star falls 1 " asked a man of the 
philosopher. 

" There are fixed stars. Go study your as- 
tronomy and try another," answered the philos- 
opher. 

Said the chicken to the little girl, " I am an 
angel, for I have wings." 

" But I'm far nearer heaven than you," and 
the child stretched out her arms to the sky. 

Then the chicken found it could fly only as 
high as the hem of the child's dress. 

p. R. c. 
The Mount Holyoke. 



158 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Cat the Queen Stroked* 

Terence O'Shay of the Cork Fusileers was 
on board the first transport of convalescents 
sent home from the Crimea after the fall of 
Sebastopol in '55. Though no treaty of peace 
had as yet been signed, the war was practically 
over and the Allies victorious ; and so this first 
boat-load of invalids was welcomed back to 
England with all the prestige of conquerors. 
An immense crowd collected on the wharf at 
Woolwich, and the queen herself reviewed the 
troops in the square. They were from all the 
regiments in the service, and presented a rather 
forlorn appearance as they drew up in a long 
double line and saluted the royal party ; but 
the onlookers gave them cheer after cheer, 
which they returned lustily. Then the queen 
made a pretty little speech and presented them 
with medals. 

Corporal O'Shay was one of the fortunate 
fifty whose insignia were pinned on by Her 
Majesty's own hand. He still relates the occur- 
rence periodically for the benefit of contemporary 
historians. " * Oi's proud av yez,' sez the quane. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 59 

as Oi halted afore the shtand an' puffed up me 
chist. * Bedad an' Oi'm a bit proud av meself,' 
sez Oi, wid a wink at the Djuke av York, an' 
they hot' begins to laff ; and thin " — and Ter- 
ence's story goes on like Tennyson's brook. 

Near O'Shay in line was a little drummer- 
boy with a big gray cat hugged close in his 
arms. He had brought it all the way from the 
Crimea, and the pair naturally attracted a good 
deal of attention ; the queen took the cat out 
of the child's arms and petted it for a moment 
and asked the boy some kindly questions. Such 
marked notice caused considerable surprise, and 
the papers the next morning spoke of the in- 
cident at some length. As O'Shay sat smoking 
a pipe after breakfast and idly considering the 
above fact, a sudden thought occurred to him 
which necessitated calling together his two old 
cronies, O'Rourke and Sullivan, in hurried 
council. 

An hour later a respected citizen of Green- 
wich encountered an Irish soldier sauntering 
along one of the main streets of the town with 
a pipe in his mouth and an unhappy tom-cat 
under his arm. It was the respected citizen 
who made the first advances. 



l6o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" That's a fine cat you've got there, my man." 

"Yis, your honour, 'tis a foine animal," an- 
swered Terence. 

" What's its name ? " 

" Balaklava, sorr." 

" What ! you didn't bring it all the way from 
the Crimea, did you ? " 

" Oi did, sorr. Oi was shot in the shoulder 
a-laiding the Loight Bregade in their noble 
chairge, sorr, an' whin Oi cam to me senses in 
the hospitol, sorr, this cat was purring on me 
cot, sorr. We've bane inseeperable iver since, 
sorr." 

" I don't suppose this is the cat Her Majesty 
made so much of yesterday, is it .-^ " 

"The viry wan, sorr." 

"Why, is it really.?" 

" Yis, sorr ; ye see, sorr, me an' Jimmy — he's 
the drummer-bye, ye know — we is ould pals, 
sorr, an' Oi lave him carry Balaklava in the 
parade yisterday, sorr." 

"You wouldn't care to part with it, would 
you, my man .? " 

" Mony couldn't bouy it, sorr. Puir Jimmy, 
'is 'eart 'le brake, the little darlin'." 

And so the conversation progressed by easy 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE l6l 

stages until Terence departed with his fingers 
twined lovingly about a crinkly pound note and 
his eye scanning the back-yard fences in search 
of other available Balaklavas. 

" An' how monny cats did yez sell the day, 
Jimmy ? " asked O'Shay that evening when the 
three cronies gathered together in the barracks. 

*^ Power." 

" Ye puir inexpeerienced phule," grunted 
Terence, " Oi bagged noin meself." 

H. D. G. 

Yale Literary Magazine. 
Progress of the Crews* 

{A la Daily Sin.) 

The crew room presents a busy scene these 
days. Our reporter made his usual trip to the 
gymnasium yesterday, took a bath, and inter- 
viewed Mr. Courtney on the progress of the 
crews. The latter very cordially placed the 
coxswain's seat at the disposal of his visitor, 
and, note -book in hand, our representative 
recorded the following : 

No. I. Showed weakness in conversational 



1 62 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

powers. His hair was parted on one side, caus- 
ing him to swing far to the left with every 
stroke. 

No. 2. Had a very inexpressive face. His 
clothing was not nearly new, and at times he 
perspired in a disgraceful manner. He is by no 
means sure of his seat. 

No. 3. Extremely discourteous. When No. 
4 dropped a stroke he refused to return it to 
him, although he saw the loss plainly. 

No. 4. Drops strokes noisily and carelessly. 
Eats tobacco surreptitiously and looks deceitful. 

No. 5. One arm is much longer than the 
other. Mr. Courtney says that a knot can be 
easily tied which will make both arms the same 
length. 

No. 6. Pulls very strongly. At times he 
makes a swishing noise. It is presumed that 
his lungs are full of water. 

No. 7. Has a hungry, heavy, ghoulish stare. 
A good oarsman, but he watches the nude cervix 
of No. 8 intently. Mr. Courtney fears he is a 
man-eater. 

No. 8. Has a noticeable lack of variety in 
his rowing. Wears a Wittenberg College pin. 
When asked to point out the weak points of the 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 63 

men behind him, he absolutely declined to be 
interviewed. 

All these faults Mr. Courtney expects to 
correct before the crews get on the water. He 
said that he wished to congratulate the Sin on 
its articles on athletics. He also inquired about 
the subscription rates. The Sin has determined 
to cooperate with Mr. Courtney in developing a 
good crew, and to this end it asks the support of 
the entire student body. 

The Cornell Widow. 

The World's End. 

The clear, cold air made our blood bound 
deliciously as we set off, with high hope, to 
seek the World's End. The brown road, fringed 
with rusty grasses, curved away indefinitely. 
The earth was all our own, with no house or 
human being to dispute our claim. We thrilled 
with the sense of possession. Over a pond dull 
brown with autumn shadows and thick grown 
with rustling reeds the road led ; then past a 
meadow where the grass was still bright green. 
Across its rolling surface came the softened 
clang of a cow-bell. And what exquisite be- 



164 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

wilderment and indecision seized us at the 
cross-roads ! For three would lead back to 
the peopled world we had left, and only one 
to the World's End. Such momentous choice 
could not be made unaided. We murmured a 
childish formula, and turned to the left. Ah, 
yes ! surely this was the road we sought ; for 
there, far above us, up a steep hill and through 
a gateway of dark pines, it vanished into the 
blue sky. Longingly we gazed at the goal of 
our desire, soft and filmy in the blue-gray haze 
of distance, and then turned back. We dared 
not go to the World's End after all. 

L. V. N. M. 

Wellesley Magazine. 

The Smoker* 

The sun fought its way through the dust- 
laden windows, pouring down on the heads of 
the few passengers, and lighting up the faded 
plush on the seats, while the shadows of the 
pine-trees flitted along over the tobacco-stained 
floor. 

The big man in the corner looked down at 
his neighbour and laughed. ^' Ye're dead right," 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 65 

he said. "I ain't been back fer nigh three 
years." 

The other smiled sleepily. "Glad to git 
back, ain't ye .? " he asked, indifferently, twist- 
ing his finger around in a blackened pipe-bowl. 

" I jist be ! Dad oughter be waitin' fer me 
a'ready down't the platform. On'y one more 
stop ? Ye do feel good when ye git hum, don't 
ye .-* I tell ye, daddy'll give half his old heart 
to git sight o' me. He's jes' that fond o' me." 

His neighbour smiled again, and went on 
twisting the pipe-bowl around. The big man 
turned to the window and gazed out at the end- 
less succession of pine-trees. The afternoon 
dragged along. The train creaked and jolted ; 
the cinders sifted through the roof and settled 
down on everything below. The sunlight was 
gone from the floor, and only now and then it 
struck in at the windows through a clearing in 
the pines, while the train slowed up. It stopped, 
with a long-drawn hissing of steam. Some one 
came through from the forward car and slammed 
the door behind him. The big man by the door 
glanced up and then jumped to his feet, trem- 
bling. His neighbour looked sleepily from one 
to the other. The newcomer spoke : 



1 66 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Ye'd better come quiet-like, Bob." 

The big man looked at him appealingly and 
sobbed a little and then swore, but he picked 
up his hat and got out into the aisle. 

" Ye'd ought 'a knowed better' n to make fer 
home," the man spoke, reproachfully, " any fool'd 
do that." 

Bob stopped his swearing suddenly, and his face 
twitched. "Yes," he said, "any fool'd do that." 
David de F. Burrell. 

Yale Literary Magazine. 

Sweet Is True Love* 

Phil was puzzled. He tilted his chair back, 
and blew the smoke of his cigar into the air, as 
if hoping to find in the blue clouds an answer 
to his problem. Was ever man so situated .'* 
Last night, when he started in such spirits for 
Mrs. Seymour's reception, he did not dream of 
the fate hanging over him. And all because 
of those two girls. Oh, why had he been such 
a fool } He remembered seeing Edith soon 
after he entered the rooms that were dazzling 
in their festal array, and a fit setting for such 
a jewel of a girl. Well, she did look handsome 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 67 

and no mistake, and after the dance what won- 
der that he asked her to go to the conservatory. 
And then — and then, well, the first thing he 
knew he was telhng her how much he loved 
her, and asking her to be his wife. And she ? 
She, with her beautiful eyes cast down, prom- 
ised to send him an answer on the morrow. 
Then another partner claimed her, and (here 
Phil groaned) who should come up but Madge, 
saucy, pretty Madge, looking as piquant and 
bewitching as any little fairy that ever beguiled 
a man ! And couldnt Madge dance to perfec- 
tion ? In the conservatory again, among the 
roses, he forgot Edith, forgot everything except 
that Madge was the prettiest girl he ever saw, 
and — and he proposed to her, too! But just 
as the words passed his lips, some one came in 
to claim Madge for the next dance, and with a 
whispered " to-morrow " she left him, giving one 
look backward as she did so. 

So there it was ! Engaged to two girls at 
once. For, of course, both would accept, dear 
little things ; he had long known they both liked 
him a little too well. Now, which should he 
take t They were both such nice girls. Edith 
was a queen, and would grace the head of any 



1 68 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

man's table. Yes, Edith was the one to choose. 
But then there was Madge, brilUant, provoking 
Madge, just the kind of girl he liked. A fellow 
never could get tired of a girl like that. And 
besides, it would hurt Madge more than Edith 
to be given up, for, with all her saucy ways, she 
was a sensitive little thing. Yes, he would take 
her, and Edith would have to go. And here 
Phil drew a long breath that was nearly akin to 
a sigh. But he thought, *' It is a comfort for a 
fellow to have his mind fully made up." Just 
then a dainty note was handed him, brought by 
special messenger. He opened it : 

" Dear Boy : — After talking the matter 
over, we have both decided to say no. Yours, 

"Edith and Madge." 

Lillian S. Throop. 

The Stanford Sequoia. 

A Fortunate Foursome. 

We were playing in a mixed foursome that 
afternoon. One of those unscientific and alto- 
gether delightful games, where the mixed means 
much more than the foursome. By some chance, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 69 

for which the caddy and a dollar were responsi- 
ble, we had gotten far behind the other couple, 
and I could see them resting under the trees by 
the last hole on the hillside, as we came to the tee. 

'* Now make a long drive, a record breaker," 
said Molly, "and we may win yet." 

Those eyes again ! They would have spoiled 
the form of an angular Scotchman with forty years 
on St. Andrew's behind him, and I was just out 
of college, and a lover of human nature. 

" You've hit the bunker ! " said Molly, pathet- 
ically, when I finished, "and the caddy has 
gone ; the wretch has forgotten all about us." 

" But not about my dollar," thought I, and 
winked at the daisies. 

" Oh, Jack ! Oh, Molly ! " came faintly from 
over the hill-top, as we walked through the 
meadow. 

I lied unblushingly, "Rather late to hear a 
robin sing, isn't it ? " 

"Yes, rather," said Molly, and turned to 
loose a briar from her skirt. 

We were down in the valley by this time, 
with no living thing about but a meditative 
cow and a hidden chorus of bullfrogs. Then 
and there I decided that the crowning perfec- 



170 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

tion of human costume had been reached in a 
golf dress, and speculated how long it would be 
safe to pretend I did not know where the ball 
was. At last she found it, half hidden in the 
cup some hoof had made. 

" Let me hit it," I suggested. 

" No, that would not be fair," answered 
Molly, thoughtfully, "but you may help me, 
if you will. You know how ; catch hold of 
the stick, just as the golf teacher does when 
he shows you the proper swing." 

I believe I groaned. I am quite sure I made 
some inappropriate remark ; but to come very 
near to holding her in my arms, to fairly clasp 
her hands in mine, without giving myself away, 
and losing her for good and all, was a tempta- 
tion I shuddered to think of. 

It was not so bad after all. Arms over her 
shoulder, just like the golf teacher, bless him ! 
My hands on hers, and then the swing. If only 
she had kept those eyes on the ball. She didn't ; 
she was looking at me ! I wavered ; I looked 
at her ! Thunder ! I'd kissed her ! 

There was a stump close at hand, and I sat 
down on it, with my back toward her. I knew 
that she had gone to tell the others how she 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I7I 

had been insulted, and that I had abused her 
confidence, and was no gentleman, and I knew 
my game was up. I should have done some- 
thing desperate if there had been anything 
handy, but just then I heard a shy little cough, 
and turned my head. 

Molly was standing beside me, all rosy with 
confusion. "Jack," she said, ''that isn't the 
way the golf teacher lofts." I jumped up im- 
petuously, scarcely daring to credit my ears. 

" You musn't ! " I had not done a thing. 
"Go hunt the ball; I hear a robin." 

" Hello, Jack ! Hello, Molly ! " In an instant 
they were beside us, and, " Lost your ball. 
Jack ? " asked the man, and, " What is the 
matter with your hair, dear ? " said the girl. 

"Nothing at all is the matter," said Molly, 
just glancing at me. "Jack has been showing 
me how to loft, and I like his way much, much 
better than the teacher's. Will you help me 
more to-morrow. Jack ? " 

I believe I didn't groan. I'm quite sure my 
remark was appropriate. Molly says I blushed, 
but I know I thought, " Well, rather ! " 

Henry Seidel Canby. 

Yale Courant. 



172 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Golf and a Bracelets 

Green No. 6 had a tree and a spring near it, 
which no one ever thought of passing by, and 
on this particular morning a very pretty Gib- 
son's " Golf is a Game for Two," could be seen 
there. 

"Marjorie, have you read the account of the 
fall of Santiago, in the morning papers ? " asked 
Ted. 

" No. We came out so early that I only had 
time to read the headlines." She looked at him 
anxiously. Her thoughts were with the Rough 
Riders. 

Ted read the account aloud, and then stuck 
the paper into the pocket of his golf coat. 

" Why didn't you go to war, Ted ? I surely 
thought you would." 

Ted muttered something indefinite about 
"business " — " stocks " — " aged father." 

"All of which means that you didn't — 
exactly — want to .-* " with a saucy look in her 
eyes. 

" Why didn't you go as a Red Cross nurse ? " 
Ted asked, evasively. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 73 

" I suspect I didn't exactly — want to. Come, 
own up." 

But Ted said nothing. 

" Have you seen my patriotic bracelet ? " 
Marjorie went on, holding out her arm, on 
which shone a round gold band set with three 
stones : a ruby, a diamond, and a sapphire. 
*' My cousin, who lives out West, gave it to 
me the day he started for the war. You never 
met, I think." 

"No. What is he like.?" 

*' Well, he is big and blond, and — oh, every- 
thing," with a very faint sigh. 

" Marjorie, the ' big, blond ' fellows (Ted was 
very dark) seem to be the only ones who win 
any favour from you." 

Silence. 

" Marjorie, answer me." 

Marjorie was digging the ground very hard 
with her putter. 

" Surely you must know," continued Ted, 
"must have seen how I love — " 

Marjorie laughed. She was apt to be irrever- 
ent on such occasions. " I really do not see what 
you want an answer to," she said. "Ted, you 
certainly have an awkward way of putting things." 



174 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

She jumped up and ran toward the next tee. 
She knew she had been rude and exasperating, 
but she was not sure of herself. Should it 
be Ted or — she looked at the bracelet. Ted's 
chances were rising. 

Marjorie teed her ball. Then she felt of her 
Ascot, pushed up the cuffs of her shirt-waist 
a trifle, and raised her club for the drive. Her 
eyes fell on Ted, who, looking very much put 
out, stood reading his paper. 

*'Mr. Field," she asked, sarcastically, "what 
do you find so extremely interesting ? Since 
you would insist on bringing no caddies, you 
might at least have the goodness to notice 
where I drive this ball." 

" Miss Morton, I was simply wishing that I was 
this fellow," and he read, " ' Harry Barnard, son 
of Hon. Charles Barnard, of Chicago, was among 
the Rough Riders killed before Santiago.' " 

The sun grew dim to Marjorie. She raised 
her club and sent her ball but a few feet. 

"Try again, if you like." 

The second was no better. 

" I think I would rather not play any more 
to-day. Let us go back to the club-house," 
said Marjorie, gently. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 75 

" Oh, my dear," cried Ted, thinking he under- 
stood why his remark had disturbed her, *' I 
knew it ! I felt it ! You do love me, then, 
Marjorie?" 

"Don't jump at conclusions, Ted. I'm going 
back because — because" — the sun hit on 
the diamond ; before the girl's eyes rose a 
vision of a wounded, dying Rough Rider, but 
with a little forced laugh she went on — 
"because I feel sure I shall go on making 
bad drives." 

L. C. G. 

Brunonian. 

University 5» 

A LITTLE U. 5 notice caused all my despair. 
I had been indulging in a somewhat technical 
crime, which is punished severely by the fac- 
ulty, and my meditations, as I crossed the yard 
in obedience to the summons, were hardly of the 
happy order. When I reached the big stone 
steps of University I stopped, seeking in vain for 
courage to go farther, and stood staring at the 
worn granite slabs. I thought of the hundreds 
of quaking feet that had already ascended those 



176 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

ancient steps, and the many broken ambitions 
and hopeless hearts which had left those stairs 
to carry with them through life the keen stigma 
of a disgraceful college career. A comparison 
with the Bridge of Sighs was no doubt irrele- 
vant, but at that moment it struck me with 
terrible force. 

After hesitating a few moments, I ascended 
slowly and with leaden feet the fateful flight, 
pushed open timidly the big, bare, forbidding 
door to the outer sanctum, and stepped to the 
rail as unobtrusively as possible. Just then the 
dean passed through the room and bestowed on 
me one of his comprehensive " glad to see you, 
my dear old friend" smiles, and my last gleam 
of hope left me. I knew those smiles were not 
distributed in vain, — I must now expect expul- 
sion ; my hopes for suspension were scattered 
to the winds. 

As the recorder turned to me, I mumbled 
out a word of explanation, and he replied, quickly, 
" Oh, yes ; are you taking Chemistry B ? " 

"No, sir." 

" Well, you have been cutting a good deal in 
Fine Arts 3 .? " 

" I am not taking the course, sir." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 77 

" Is that so ? Well, there is some mistake 
here; that is all I wanted to know." And he 
turned and began to discourse on the subject in 
stentorian tones to a hole in the wall, while I 
fairly danced out of the room with resolutions 
of reform engraven on my conscience. 

Harvard Advocate. 

Philosophy at Twenty-one. 

The dignity of a Senior became her well, and 
the little air of authority that she assumed was 
very pretty. She felt, this miss of twenty- 
one, that she knew herself thoroughly, and that 
she had had all the experience of a lifetime 
crowded into three years or more of college ; 
she had analysed herself and her ambitions, had 
examined them under a microscope, and com- 
pletely classified them. 

It was my happy lot, not long ago, to sit 
beside her at a football game, and, as the play 
progressed, to hear her comments. "All this 
enthusiasm," she said, " is purely false excite- 
ment ; there is no need for it. People can get 
just as much enjoyment out of the game without 
jumping about and yelling." Just at this moment 



178 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

there was an outburst of wilder cheering, and, to 
my astonishment, I saw the Senior beside me 
standing up on the seat, waving both hands 
toward the field, her face ablaze with excite- 
ment. The right end, her "very best friend," 
had the ball, and had run eighty yards down the 
field for a touchdown. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

In June. 

The little cabin was the last that remained of 
the old slave quarters. The unhewn logs had 
turned gray with age ; time and the weather 
had nibbled off the ends of the moss-covered 
clapboards. The roof had sagged down in the 
middle, the crazy old chimney had settled to one 
side, and the mud that chinked the space between 
the logs had fallen out in great handfuls ; but the 
monster pecan-tree that towered above, and the 
vines that covered the front, imparted a refresh- 
ing coolness to the place. From the interior of 
the quaint little house came the voice of a woman, 
singing, " Clim'in' to Zion," in a high key, and 
the monotonous thump ! thump ! of the flatiron 
on the ironing board. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 79 

Out across the fields the heat-waves danced 
giddily above the green cotton plants ; the songs 
of the hoe-hands, borne along by the scorching 
south wind, sounded indistinct and dreamy. 

On the piazza of the cabin, half hidden by the 
morning-glory vines, sat a grizzled old giant of 
a darky. His chair was tipped back against the 
wall, his head had sunk to his breast ; the old 
man was asleep. In his arms lay a tiny little 
black baby. Its head fell across the giant's left 
arm ; its mouth was wide open, and the proces- 
sion of flies that crawled lazily over its face 
paused in turn, and reconnoitred the mysterious 
opening. Both the bare little feet were swal- 
lowed up in the old man's great paw. 

From the tower of the barn the plantation 
bell clanged harshly. The workers in the field 
set up a joyous shout ; the old man stirred un- 
easily, then awoke; the baby began to cry for 
its mother ; noon had come. 

C. W. Clark. 

Brunonia7i, 



l8o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Clever Miss Vandeveer. 

" Of all the clever girls," said Percy, breaking 
the silence, " I met the cleverest last summer. 
That girl has taken considerable conceit out of 
me." 

*' How was that.-^" asked Jack, rising from 
his reclining position, and puffing vigorously on 
his pipe. 

" It happened this way : I was spending part 
of August at Atlantic City. While there, I 
made the acquaintance of a Miss Vandeveer, 
a Junior at Wellesley. She was one of those 
artless girls, who at the same time possess 
their share of tact. I had taken quite a fancy 
to her, and we spent most of the time in one 
another's company. It was a few days before 
my departure, as we sat together at the end of 
the pier, gazing at the water which a full moon 
was tinting. In front of the pier, some feet 
below, lay a large float which, as it swayed to 
and fro, suggested to my mind a test for Miss 
Vandeveer' s much-talked-of daring. 

"'You seem,' I said, *to be quite adroit with 
your wheel, but I'll wager a college flag against 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE l8l 

a sofa pillow that you are afraid to ride off this 
pier on to the float.' " 

" Of course she didn't take you up," said Jack, 
incredulously. 

" But she did, and now I wish she hadn't. 
* I'm not,' she said, with a pert toss of her head, 
'but you must let me name the hour.' 'All 
right, suit yourself,' said I, laughingly. 'Well, 
let us say five o'clock to-morrow morning. Now 
you be on hand, and you'll see whether I'm 
afraid. ' 

" At five the next morning, I reluctantly arose 
and started for the pier, with a suspicion lurking 
in my mind that she was joking, and wished to 
see if it were possible for a college man to arise 
at that hour. But sure enough, there she was 
awaiting my arrival." 

" And she didn't hurt herself ? " asked Jack. 

" Not in the least. You see the tide in the 
meantime had risen so that the float was on a 
level with the pier, and all she had to do was 
to cross from one to the other." 

"Well," said Jack, rising to go, "Miss Vande- 
vecr l/eaij any giil I ran across last summer." 

"Mem. 'oo." 
Hamilton Literary Magazine. 



1 82 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Un Chant D^Amour^ 

I SUPPOSE it was because he was such a dash- 
ing young fellow ; his cuffs and collars were so 
red and ruffled ; his Shetland reared so gaily at 
the little horse-cars that used to run on North 
State, and his legs were so much fatter than his 
trousers. Or perhaps it was because the Sacred 
Heart was a lonely gray place. At any rate, I 
caught the kisses he tossed to my window. 

He climbed into the convent lawn one day. 
For some time we were very still. Then — 

*'My name's A — An — Anna." I did not 
usually stutter. 

Neither did he, but — " Mine's H — Ha — 
Harry." 

The conventionalities thus appeased, he 
showed me a wee mud-turtle. 

" I'll give you one if you come here again," he 
said. He experienced a change of heart. " No, 
I won't." 

At this, I ran back to the kitchen, and heard 
him remorsefully bawling, " Oh, yes, I will ! " 

Mother Mary gave me a box a few days later. 
Behold a turtle of dimensions even more infini- 



/ 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 83 

tesimal than that of the one I saw before ! 
There was also a compassionate note : 

*' You won't see me any more. You can have 
it, anyway. Going home." 

"What clumsiness ! " broke in Mother Supe- 
rior, sharply. *• 

But in the light of past experience I guess 
that it was tears. 

A. A. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

Contentment. 

The day was very sunny and hot, and the roads 
were thick with dust ; farmers going into town 
with their heavy wagons raised up clouds of it, 
in which they jogged along surrounded as with 
a fog. The dust settled on the horses' backs, 
on the grass along the ditches by the side of the 
road, and covered everything with a uniform dull 
grayish yellow, out of which only the black-eyed 
Susans emerged triumphant, on account of their 
more dominant orange colour. Along the road 
came two quaint little figures, boy and girl, both 
barefoot ; she clad in a checkered pinafore, and 
wearing a sunbonnet of the same material, of 



184 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

the Shaker pattern, and a world too large for 
her ; he in turned-up overalls — presumably the 
cast-off property of his father — and a brimless 
straw farmer's hat. Both little faces were 
freckled and burned, and both surrounded by 
little wet curls of red hair. The travellers pad- 
dled along undaunted by the almost unbearable 
heat ; they squeezed up the dust between their 
little bare toes, and stopped often to pat it into 
mounds of different shapes and sizes. 

I approached them slowly, reaching them just 
as they stopped to exclaim over the beauty of a 
butterfly, swaying on a wild-turnip stock ; they 
were so manifestly content and happy in their 
lot, that I, who had been anathematising the 
day, the heat, and the necessary journey I was 
making, felt a sense of jealousy. After I had 
passed them, I turned in the carriage and looked 
back; but the inevitable dust had swallowed 
them up. 

H. T. p. 
Wells College Chronicle. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 85 



My Old Room. 

I HAD come back to Cambridge to try for an 
A. M., for I knew it would please the " Gov- 
ernor," and I was not averse to another eight 
months' leisure in the place I liked to call home. 
But there was one drawback to my fifth year here, 
and that was the fact that I had given up my 
room in the Yard, and, coming back unexpect- 
edly, was forced to put up with a severely plain 
suite in a frame house on Holyoke Street. I 
often compared this new apartment, with its 
dingy outlook on the church and its many funerals, 
to my old abode, with the sun pouring into the 
windows, casting two bright spots on the yellow 
carpet, darkened by the unsteady shadows of 
the waving elms without. How uninviting was 
this ugly, smoky stove compared to that little 
old-fashioned grate, and how cheerless these 
new-fangled windows with the big panes were, 
in comparison with those sixteen little squares 
of glass in each of my old windows ! With every- 
thing else in the room it was the same. I was 
not satisfied, and began to grow restless and 
look forward to any chance that would give me 



1 86 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

an excuse to get out of my room, if for only a 
night. And then, too, I missed the fellows, — 
"the gang," — for I tell you it made me fairly 
homesick to go into Jake's, and know that none 
of our crowd would be there, or at the Adams 
House after the theatre. Then to go into 
Leavitt's, to see all younger fellows, and not be 
able to join in their conversations with the same 
sympathy that exists between classmates, made 
me lonesome. 

So you see I was an unhappy sort of a post- 
grad., and my work in philosophy made me more 
and more so. It must have been some time in 
December that I was walking through the Yard, 
deep in thoughts of the coming vacation, and of 
how I was going to spend it. I was so wrapt 
up in myself that I paid no attention to what I 
was doing, but, on coming to my old hall, turned 
in and stumped up the two short flights of stairs, 
and let myself in with my old key, a memento 
of four happy years, which I had a sneaking 
desire to keep. As soon as I stepped inside, I 
came to my senses. There, in the window-seat, 
just as I had often lolled, lay one of the new 
Freshman occupants, with his feet high up on 
the window-casing, and his lips blowing delicate 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 87 

smoke-rings at the curtain-tassel. In the corner 
was his ''wife/' sitting in his shirt-sleeves at the 
desk, scratching away at Freshman English, or 
some other equally precious stuff. They both 
looked at me with surprise and some misgivings, 
and I felt that an explanation was due them for 
my unceremonious entrance. 

" Oh, I beg your pardon," I began ; ''you see, 
I used to have this room — last year — and I 
thought you fellows might want this key," and, 
as I felt the weakness of my remark, I threw 
down the little piece of metal that was the last 
reminder I had of my old room, and turning 
abruptly, I whistled my way down-stairs, just 
to fool myself into believing that I didn't 
care. 

H. M. Adams. 
Harvard Advocate. 

Two Dear Old Ladies* 

" She's dead ! " . 
"No.?" 

" Yes, dead a week ago, and they say she 
suffered horribly." 

" No .? " 



l88 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Yes, and do you believe it ? " 

^' What ? " 

''Why, he's married again ! " 

''No?" 

"Yes, and he was sick in bed at the time, 
too ! " 

« No ? " 

" Yes, and she, the new one, came all the way 
from New York ? " 

" No ? " 

" Yes, and they say she's rich as Crokus ! " 

"No?" 

" Yes, and when, she got here, poor Viny 
could hardly have been cold in her grave ! " 

" No ? " 

" Yes, and do you believe ! he — and I don't 
care if he is my minister, and if he does preach 
beautiful — he had her come straight to his 
house ! " 

" No ? " 

" Yes, and he had two ministers, one on each 
side of his bed, to marry him, sick as he was, and 
Viny, dead as she was, and this New Yorker, rich 
as she was, had 'em marry him then and there ! " 

" No ? " 

" Yes, and when they came to the place where 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 89 

they asked her if she'd take him for better or 
for worse, she said the doctor said he was better, 
and the minister needn't try to scare her out of 
havin' him ! " 

'^ No ? " 

"Yes, and he laughed outright, sick as he 
was, and dead as Viny was, and it seems to me 
the most scandalous thing ! " 

" Mercy ! he laughed ? " 

"Yes!" 

"And you say Viny's dead ? " 

" Yes ! " 

" And that he's married again ? " 

"Yes!" 

" And that all this happened before Viny was 
buried ? " 

" Yes ! " 

" And that this new one is rich ? " 

"Yes!" 

'* And that her name is Crokus ? " 

" Yes ! " 

" And that two ministers married him, one on 
each side of his bed ? " 

"Yes!" 

"And that when they told him Viny was 
dead he laughed outright ? " 



IQO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"Yes!" 

And sent to New York for this Miss Crokus 
before Viny was cold ? " 

"Yes!" 

" And Miss Crokus, that was, will be president 
o' the sewin' circle ? " 

" Of course ! " 

" Good Lord ! " 

" Good mornin'." 

" Good mornin'." 

Charles Otis Judkins. 

Wesley an Literary Monthly. 

A Sentinel and a Substitute. 

The sentinel had not moved a muscle, but he 
had heard a sound in the bushes back of him, 
and he realised what that sound meant. A man 
whose movements were thus concealed could 
only be an enemy. Still the sentinel leaned on 
the muzzle of his gun ; still he seemed absorbed 
in the deepest contemplation of the sleeping 
camp of the enemy. The crickets chirped 
their symphony of summer all around as gaily 
as before, but a cicada that had been making 
the air resonant with its strumming on a large 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE I9I 

bush in the rear had suddenly stopped. The 
sentinel's mind was busy ; his ears were 
strained to bursting ; every nerve seemed tense ; 
his head throbbed and great waves of sound 
battered on his skull. A thousand plans of de- 
fence rushed before him. Still he had not 
stirred an inch. 

Then when his whole being seemed to shriek 
with the agony of suspense, he heard a click, 
leaped suddenly to one side, there was a sharp 
flash and report, and he sprang unharmed into 
the bush. Sounds of agony followed, and the 
short, desperate pant that spoke of deadly com- 
bat as the men forced one another back and 
forth, then a dull thud as the fall of a body was 
slightly stayed by its impact with the bushes, 
and the sentinel, too, sank fainting to the ground, 
his life blood slowly ebbing from a great gash in 
his side. 

When he regained consciousness it seemed as 
if hours had passed. He had done so much in a 
minute. He had been home, he remembered 
how he had said good-bye to his mother, how — 
Then he gazed at the wound, and he remembered 
something else, his duty. 



192 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

He was growing constantly weaker, the flow 
of blood had stopped slightly, but he knew that 
the end was not far. He looked a moment at 
the bushes, then he crawled toward the largest, 
leaving a ghastly trail of red behind. No time 
could be spared. He drew a knife from his 
pocket and cut off a stout branch about five 
feet in height, crotched at the top. Then 
he crawled back to the open space. His gun 
lay on the ground where it had fallen. He 
sharpened the large end of the sapling and 
drove it into the ground with all his remain- 
ing strength. Then he stopped, his little stock 
of energy spent. But he dared not delay, — ■ 
too much remained to be done in the short time 
alloted him. 

He forced his trembling hands to place the 
gun securely against the notch in the support- 
ing branch ; then painfully he rose to his knees, 
dragged off his army cloak, carefully draped it 
over this support, thrust his hat over the top, 
drew the crimson scarf from his neck and wound 
it just below ; with stiffening fingers buttoned 
the cloak slowly from the top, reached the last 
button, gave a great gasp, half relief, half agony, 
and sank back — dead. But an immovable sen- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 93 

tinel, that appeared to guard a restful camp, still 
stood on the mountain top. 

Oscar Loeb. 
The Red and Blue. 

A Class Day Convert* 

I LIVED next door to Jason a whole year 
before I knew him. It seemed that I never 
saw the man before one night when I ran into 
him in the hallway, thus calling forth apologies 
on both sides, an invitation to his room, and 
talk. He had often seen me before, he told me, 
but had been restrained from speaking by bash- 
fulness. 

After this I often dropped in on him. He 
was always in his room, studying or digging at 
a yellow piano. Music was his one amusement. 
He would sit for hours merely making combi- 
nations of the different chords, never speaking 
to me, but bent over the keyboard in nervous 
preoccupation. He was a good scholar, received 
excellent marks, and had read many books, 
about which he talked intelligently. All in 
all, he was a pretty good sort of fellow. 

Jason and I agreed in almost everything. On 



194 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

one point, however, we fought. The Univer- 
sity, he claimed, was not run in the right way. 
A man here did not get a just show unless he 
came in with a crowd of men from one of the 
preparatory schools that annually furnish Har- 
vard's athletes, musical, literary, and social 
satellites. The whole place was run by a 
Boston clique, the professors, the president, 
the governors, everybody and everything. No 
wonder (he would shout now) there was no 
spirit to the place. Personally, he had none ; 
never would have. He looked on the institu- 
tion merely as a necessity for giving his mind 
an education and nothing more, just as water 
and soap were necessary for cleanliness. 

On the other side, I would argue until I was 
gasping for breath and ready to choke him. It 
would end by my getting up and leaving, with 
a bang to the door, and with Jason's satirical, 
smiling countenance turned on me like an item 
of a nightmare. Then I would hear him playing 
chords on the yellow piano, and I would swear. 

Class day came around, and I was so occupied 
with spreads, mammas, and pretty girls, that I 
could think of almost nothing else. When 
evening came, and the festivities, with the 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 95 

paper lamps in the yard, died a flickering 
death, I went to my room utterly exhausted, 
and threw myself heavily on the divan. I 
heard a noise in the next room, and thought 
for the first time of Jason. What could he have 
done with himself all day ? He had no club to 
go to, no relatives that I knew of to bother 
him ; nothing of any kind, outside of the regular 
college exercises, to interest him. Wondering 
thus, the sound of the piano reached me. Jason 
was playing. I knew his touch, and sat up to 
hear more distinctly. The tune was ''Fair 
Harvard." I rose and went to his room. As 
I opened the door, there was a crash of conflict- 
ing notes. Leaning on the keyboard was Jason, 
his body shaking with sobs. 

C. H. L. Johnston. 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Corn-cob Pipe^ 

Half a dozen of us were sitting around the 
other night, talking over the various happenings 
of the week and pulling vigorously at half a 
dozen pipes. 

Soon another man dropped in, and the host 



196 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

got up to take a pipe from the string of fifteen 
or twenty that were stretched along the wall 
between a couple of tennis-rackets. 

"No meerschaum for me, Charlie," said the 
newcomer. " I'm common. Give me that 
' corn-cob ' in the middle with the ribbon on 
it. Cardinal ribbon, too. I'll be patriotic." 

"That pipe.?" Charlie exclaimed. "Not by 
a jug full ; not that one." 

We all shouted. 

" Sacred .? " said I. " Girl .? tell us about it." 

"Well, it is sacred, and is about a girl, and 
I'll tell you if you will promise not to 'josh' 
me." We promised. 

" It happened up in Wyoming. My father 
has a ranch up there, fifty miles north of Raw- 
lins. He goes out occasionally to look it over, 
so took me along last time. 

" The tenant is an old Spaniard who manages 
things. His daughter keeps house for him. 
This story is about the daughter. She was a 
beauty, with dark, lustrous, dreamy eyes and 
shiny, jet-black hair." 

"'S death," undertoned somebody. 

"That's all right, fellows, it was just as I tell 
it. Well, of course I fell in love with her in no 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 97 

time, and when father started out for a couple 
of weeks' inspection over the range, I told him 
I was afraid to go up any higher, but thought it 
would be better for my lungs if I stayed at the 
ranch-house. I look like a consumptive, don't I, 
in the last stages ? Whether the governor sus- 
pected anything or not, I can't say, but he told 
me to suit myself, and — I stayed. 

" That was a great two weeks. The girl was 
a wonder. She taught me to ride ; she taught 
me to throw a rope ; she taught me to shoot a 
rifle, — that is, to hit something, I mean, — and 
I taught her — to smoke. You may think me 
wicked, but she wanted to try it — Spanish 
blood, you know — and those eyes brought me 
around in no time. She would not smoke my 
meerschaum, so I fished that ' corn-cob ' out of 
my things and gave it to her. The ribbon is 
from her hair. 

" She soon became accomplished, and I — 
Well, we rode the range together and I managed 
to keep at her side ; and when we stalked an 
antelope he usually had two bullets in him 
when he fell. 

" I believe she found me interesting, though I 
didn't try to impress her with college ways. It 



198 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

was probably new to her to have a college man 
following her closely wherever she went. 

'* And so the days slipped by, I, ' lost in the 
light of her wonderful eyes/ and she, a jolly 
companion and guide, friendly, and no more. 

"Then the governor came back from the 
hills and we got ready to leave. I made 
the most of my time then, I tell you, and she 
seemed a little disturbed at the thought of my 
going. 

" On the day we left I asked her for the 
corn-cob pipe. ' Then let me have the yellow 
one to keep,' she said. She took it carefully 
and looked at the delicate carving. ' It's pretty,' 
she remarked at last, ' but I rather think I like 
the corn-cob best.' 

"That's why the * corn-cob ' hangs in the 
middle there, fellows, and no one smokes- it 
but myself. When I look at it, it takes me 
back to the ranch-house in the mountains and a 
pair of black eyes beneath a big sombrero." 

F. M. Van Horn. 
T/ie Wisconsin j^gis. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 1 99 



The Chronicle of the Exam^ 

Now in those days a course was given, and 
all the people came to take the course, for it 
was a snap. 

Some of them were wise and some were 
foolish. 

They that were foolish took the course, but 
took no notes of it. And while the quarter 
tarried they all whispered and slept. 

But the wise took notes and hearkened unto 
the Prof. 

Then at last there was a great cry made. 
Behold, the Exam cometh. 

Then all the people arose and began to cram 
their notes. 

And the foolish said unto the wise : Lend us 
of your notes, for ours are lost. But the wise 
answered : We know it is not so. 

Then great fear arose in the hearts of the 
foolish, and they got themselves together with 
a great cry, saying : Woe, woe, to us, lest we 
flunk and be a sport of the campus. 

Then arose one who was foxier than all the 
rest, and said in a loud voice : Go to, oh, ye fear- 



200 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

f ul ! I, even I, will save you, and we shall still be 
the people. We will give a great feast, and lo, 
no man shall come save the Professor. And 
him we will make drunk with frappe and with 
feasting. And on the evening when the Exams 
come his heart will be full of thanks to us, and 
none shall flunk. Selah. 

And it was so even as it was said. 

E. H. B. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

The Augury of the Birds* 

It was the day before the Country Club held 
its gun shoot. Forker and Miss Laurence were 
shooting for practice, — at least Miss Laurence 
was. Forker was shooting because she was. 

"That was my last shot," she said, regret- 
fully, as she threw away the shell and blew the 
smoke out of the gun-barrel. 

*^ But your bag is nearly full of shells ! " he 
protested. 

She took out one, cut it open, and showed it 
to him. 

*' You see there are four wads, but no shot in 
these shells." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 20I 

He looked puzzled. 

"It was an idea of father's," she explained; 
" he was afraid I would shoot somebody while I 
was learning, so he contrived these shells, and 
put in the four wads so they would kick as 
much as if they contained shot." 

" Very ingenious ! " he said, admiringly. 
"Won't you try some of mine.'*" 

"My shoulder is beginning to get sore," she 
pleaded ; " besides, I would rather watch you 
shoot." 

He acknowledged the compliment by bring- 
ing down the next six birds handsomely. 

" It is rather awkward for you to mark score, 
and load, too ; won't you let me load for you .-* " 
she requested. 

He handed over his gun and cartridge-belt. 
She loaded deftly, and he always found his gun 
ready when he turned around after marking the 
scores. 

"Do you believe in the * Auguries of the 
Birds .<* '" she inquired, as she blew the smoke 
out of the gun. 

" Auguries .? " he echoed. 

"Do you mean to say you never heard of 
auguries.'*" she asked. "Romulus and Remus 



202 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

consulted them about founding Rome, you 
know. Besides, it is the only sure way to 
find out when you are going to marry." 

" But I don't need any ' auguries ' to tell me 
whom I want to marry," he protested. 

" One doesn't always marry the person one 
wants to," she remarked, provokingly. 

He hesitated. 

" It is very simple," she urged ; " I name a 
girl and you shoot at a pigeon. If you kill the 
pigeon the girl is to be your wife." 

" Suppose I miss them all V 

" Then you will be a bachelor." 

He agreed to try it. 

"The first will be Annie Lawton ! " she 
announced. 

He groaned. 

The pigeon flew away unscathed. 

" Next is Fanny Ames ! " 

"She squints," he objected; "besides — " 

Another pigeon flew across the fields. 

" This is Laura Falkney ; now be care- 
ful ! " she admonished, as she handed him the 
gun. 

"But," he protested, "that was before I 
met — " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 203 

He heaved a sigh of reUef as the third pigeon 
flew off. 

"This is the last pigeon, Mr. Forker ! " the 
boy called out, as he put it in the trap. 

*' Can't this one be you .? " he requested. 

" I would rather not," she said, demurely, 
dropping her eyes. 

" But you proposed it ! " he urged, reproach- 
fully. 

" Oh ! very well, then, since it was my idea," 
she said, blushing as she loaded the gun. 

The pigeon arose from the trap. He shot. 
The dog brought the pigeon and laid it at 
Forker' s feet. 

It was on their wedding trip that he told her 
that he deliberately missed all but the last bird. 

" Do you remember my shells ? " she asked. 

"With the four wads and no shot.?" he 
inquired, laughingly. 

"And do you also remember that I loaded 
your gun ? " 

He nodded. 

" Well, Jack, the last shell was the only one 
that contained shot." 

Thomas Watson. 

Va/e Courant. 



204 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



In the Car. 

She had just hurt her ankle playing basket- 
ball, and waited impatiently for a car. As she 
climbed aboard, she saw that not a seat was un- 
occupied. Several men were standing in the 
aisle, and two still had seats. One of these was 
manifestly intoxicated, and she pulled her dress 
aside with an expression of intense disgust. But 
the hurt ankle throbbed cruelly, and she turned 
in despair to the other man. He was an elderly 
gentleman of beneficent expression, and she 
steadied herself to ask, timidly : 

" Might I have your seat, please ? My 
ankle — " 

He looked up from his paper a moment, then 
turned back with a gruff " No." She flushed 
angrily, and stepped forward. But the other 
male passenger had taken in the scene, and ris- 
ing unsteadily, offered her his seat with a heavy 
bow. Then lurching forward on a strap, and 
emphasising his remarks with the heavy gravity 
given only to great sages and those who have 
imbibed too freely, he addressed the gentleman 
with the paper : 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 205 

" See 'ere," he said, wagging heavily his index 
finger, " I'm drunk, but I'll get over it. You're 
a hog. Never get over it." 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

As It Was in the Beginning* 

Graham strolled leisurely into his eight o'clock 
synchronously with the quarter-after strokes of 
the bell in the tower, unmindful of the reprov- 
ing and somewhat threatening pause in the 
voice of the long-suffering instructor ; or of 
the mild stare of the students more prompt 
in attendance, who knew the signs, and scented 
trouble in the air ; or of the fellows whose 
quick smile of welcome greeted him here, as 
everywhere. 

He was idolised as only a man can be who 
has won and kept a high place for his college 
in the intercollegiate ; and to whom the glory 
of many a crew victory is willingly accorded. 
The fellows on the seat in the extreme rear of 
the room, sufficiently removed from the platform 
to be undisturbed by the fund of information 
emanating therefrom, laid aside their newspapers 
and novels, even the books whose lessons for the 



2o6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

next hour they were eagerly conning, and made 
room for Graham. 

The instructor, exasperated by Graham's fre- 
quent non-appearance many mornings back ; not 
recognising in the big fellow's deliberate move- 
ments his cherished and laudable ambition to 
move with dignity like Herr Professor, whom 
the fellows secretly dubbed " Zeus ; " and for- 
getting, in the short eight minutes he had been 
at his post, the long, hot walk up the hill, gazed 
fixedly, almost sneeringly, at the unconscious 
Graham, as the latter hurriedly whispered some 
final directions to the fellow next him about 
the game that afternoon. 

The pause began to impress the newcomer, 
for he flushed, broke off, and then looked un- 
flinchingly at his instructor, waiting results. 
Mr. Demetson wavered an instant under that 
cool, respectful glance. Personally he liked 
Graham — dependent though he was upon the 
tender mercies of "the powers that be" for 
enough hours to graduate in the spring. But 
this tardiness must be stopped, and he was the 
man to stop it. The unobtrusive entrance of a 
girl at that instant, who came regularly at 8 : 20, 
in spite of, perhaps because of, many a would-be 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 207 

persuasive tete-a-tete with her handsome young 
instructor after hours, decided him. 

"Mr. Graham," he said, with appalhng dis- 
tinctness, " the next time you come to class at 
this hour, you needn't come." 

Some girls tittered. Graham bit his lip ; but 
work at Percy had not spoiled him, so his " Not 
prepared," in response to an unreasonable re- 
quest to " continue the translation " immediately 
after, was somewhat awestruck and humbled. 

Realising that he was free from responsibility 
for that morning, he gave loose rein to his 
thoughts, and during the remainder of the hour 
remained oblivious to all desultory claims upon 
his attention. 

He thought of the old farm, with its nerve- 
destroying monotony, from which he had broken 
away under protest. He recalled his father, 
bent with age, who had refused to aid his son in 
"getting an education." His mind reverted to 
his entrance into Ithaca life, — the queer little 
hair trunk, the first dreary, lonesome night at 
the Ithaca Hotel, — later his puzzled surprise 
at the popularity which greeted his big frame ; 
his own athletic renown — and he gazed proudly 
down on the winged foot on his sweater ; then 



2o8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

thoughts of the coming graduation filled him 
with delight, and also uncertainty. Fervently 
he hoped his name would have an "O.K." after 
it ! when the clock sounded the hour, and there 
was a general shuffle of departing feet. 

A hand upon his shoulder roused him. 
** Graham," said his instructor, kindly, "a. little 
more diligence is worth the price of an extra 
medal or two, my boy ! " 

With a smile, Graham grasped the extended 
hand. " I've been thinking it over, and if the 
end isn't too near .? " he stopped ; but the in- 
structor gave him an encouraging grin, as he 
said, "Go in and win." 

On Class day, Graham answered to his name 
at roll-call, more or less to the surprise of some 
members of good old '98. Still, such things 
have happened from time immemorial. 

w. 
Cornell Magazine. 

A Cambridge Episode* 

When the North Avenue car had jolted into 
the Square, four men, apparently college fel- 
lows, filed in. Tall and broad-shouldered as 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 2O9 

football players, they moved with the precision 
which our tandem interference strives for and 
the slowness to which it attains. Looking up 
and down the almost empty car, the leader 
seemed to be choosing a seat with unnecessary 
care. Finally he sat down and his three com- 
panions close by him. As they sat there in a 
row of four, these fellows had nothing unusual 
about them. They were, however, a bit too 
serious for students ; and their long faces 
seemed to impress a young lady in a black 
dress who, as it happened, sat opposite. But 
although out of the corner of her eye this young 
lady watched them with the interest which girls 
appear not to take in the opposite sex, they paid 
no attention at all to her. 

When the car had gone a few blocks beyond 
Porter's Station, the young lady in black sig- 
nalled the conductor to stop ; then picking up 
a roll of music, she got out by the rear plat- 
form. Before she had reached the curbing, 
some one else had left the car and was walking 
rapidly behind her. This person soon overtook 
her and said, ** Dear madam, may I carry your 
music } " Turning her head instinctively, she 
saw that it was one of the four men who had 



2IO CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

sat opposite her. She looked at him rather 
sharply, and crossed to the edge of the side- 
walk. She could not escape, however, for the 
stranger persisted, " Why do you not answer 
me .? " 

Realising that it was no use to pretend not 
to have heard, she said, with a certain degree of 
dignity, "You have no right to speak to me. 
Leave me at once. You do not even pretend 
to know me." 

"Ah, madam," said he, "but I should like 
to know you." 

"Leave me," she cried, "or I will call — " 

Just at that moment she noticed that two 
ladies on the other side of the street were 
watching her rather intently. Turning, she 
said sweetly to her admirer, "Yes, you may 
walk home with me if it isn't too much 
trouble." 

As they walked up a side street she said, 
half to herself, " I didn't want those ladies to 
see that a stranger dared speak to me. I know 
them. Now they will think it was an acquaint- 
ance. I didn't want them to tell mean stories 
to all my friends." 

"I thank those ladies, then," said her com- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 211 

panion, "for the sweetest moments of my life." 
Fie waited an instant for a reply, which was not 
granted him ; then he went on, ** The pleasure 
of being in your presence, of looking at your 
face — I know I am rude. I can't help it. You 
have fascinated me so." 

By this time they had stopped before a red 
brick house set in a narrow lawn. The girl 
lifted the latch of the gate ; but he held it 
closed. "Won't you give me a kiss.'*" he said. 
"Then I'll steal it ! " 

The girl was too quick for him. Darting 
from his arms, she ran across the lawn and up 
the steps of the house. Pale with anger, she 
turned as if to speak. Then she opened the 
door and banged it after her. 

The disappointed man stood looking toward 
the house. Then crossing the street, he met the 
three men who had been with him in the car, 
and who must have left it at about the same 
time. 

''You saw," he said to the foremost of them, 
"that I tried to kiss her." 

The leader shrugged his shoulders. 

" Members of the honourable Fraternity of 
A. Z.," he said, "you see how woefully the neo- 



2 12 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

phyte has failed in his duty. Bear this in mind 
against the day of judgment." 

J. Leonard. 
Harvard Advocate. 



Scene: Dinner at one of the Women^s 

Halls. 

[Characters : Immunes to Nervous Prostration.] 

Chatter — chatter — buz-buz — chatter. 

" A man told me the other day that he knew 
why girls were so glad there was a war. When 
I asked — " 

" Pshaw, we aren't, and his reason couldn't 
have been any good. But what I was wonder- 
ing was whether Harschberger really makes his 
crackest shirt-waists on the bias. You see — ." 

" Have a pickle .'* Remember how the French- 
man said ' the Lord pickle you ' because he 
didn't know the difference between pickles 
and preserves t " 

" Now Usten — " 

Chatter — chatter — buz-z-z. 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! That's a good one. What 
did the little boy do ? " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 213 

" He shouted, ' Rubber/ and — " 

'^ After all, Plato lived a long time ago. Don't 
you think so, too ? " 

" Yes ; but Doctor Shorey can make — " 

" Why, they are bottled up at that San some- 
thing place, aren't they ? " 

" Oh ! I have the greatest thing to tell 
you." 

*' Don't mention it." 

" You say the hero's name is Evrard } Is he 
any relation to the piano manufacturer } " 

** Can't be, for he's neither grand, square, nor 
upright." 

*' Elegant ! " 

Chatter — buz. 

" The thing that makes me feel worse about 
it is — " 

"What's the mucilage bottle got to do with 
it .? " 

" He always has us give the principal parts of 
the verbs." 

" Why, that's the sticker ! " 

" Oh ! you fraud. Ha ! ha ! " 

" He's adorable, I know ; but still I don't 
care so much for a man that's so popular with 
the girls." 



214 C^P ^ND GOWN IN PROSE 

" I know it ; but a man needn't be a stick. 
Now, in a professor you want — " 

" I know you do, and I'm sure we'll both 
agree that this one isn't a — " 

" Oh ! There are the Beecher girls getting 
their tennis nets. Let's leave our pie and 
skip ! " 

University of Chicago Weekly. 

After Sunday Comes Monday. 

The nine-thirty bell had just clanged when 
some one accidentally made mention of Monday. 
Now the only drawback to a college Sunday is 
that it is followed by a college Monday. So, 
though harmless in itself, the remark had much 
the effect of a bomb dropped into the midst of 
a ball. The girl at the door stopped short with 
her pencil poised in the air, in the act of sketch- 
ing her portrait for her hostess's memorabil. 
The girl with the fudge-pan paused in pensive 
reflection with a spoonful of crumbs half-way 
to her mouth ; the girl that had been reading 
aloud all evening stopped "reading ahead." 
Subjectively speaking, dreary Monday had al- 
ready begun to dawn. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 215 

" What time are you going to get up ? You 
will call me, of course." 

"Yes, at six." 

"■ Six ! Dear child ! I must be up by four 
at least." 

The special-topic course girl looked sympa- 
thetic; the lecture course girl disdainful, for- 
getting exam, week crams ; the scientific math- 
ematician, who never procrastinated, scolded 
till the French and Greek shorter course girls 
compromised at five. 

The latter of these, contrary to all Monday 
morning precedent, awoke of her own accord to 
find that some one had closed the window and 
turned on the heat. The sun was already up 
and shining brightly, but the evident lateness 
of the hour did not worry her. In that care- 
free mood that sometimes comes with sleepi- 
ness, she turned over and took another doze. 
The entrance of the maid with a meal-order 
awakened her. She was a little astonished that 
the girls should have known she wanted it, but 
that did not interfere with the enjoyment of 
some really tender steak and clear, hot coffee. 
Just as the last bit of brown toast was disap- 



2l6 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

pearing some one dropped in to say there was a 
cut in Greek and no new preparation. So there 
was plenty of time to dress for economics. This 
class went off well, since the professor had 
decided a lecture would serve as well for review 
as the expected written lesson. She wasn't 
called on in Latin, which was fortunate, for she 
was not good at " sight." After lunch she 
really did mean to do two hours of hard history 
reading, but it was a glorious day and golf is so 
fascinating. After all it didn't matter, for she 
shone at the seventh hour on a point of biblio- 
graphical knowledge gained from a personal 
acquaintance with the author in question. At 
dinner they had ice-cream as on Wednesdays, 
and while they were still lingering around the 
table, the messenger girl left word that Mrs. 
Kendricks had changed her mind ; the Juniors 
might go to the theatre that night, even though 
they had been three days before, and ''rush 
tickets" would be allowed. A crowd for the 
" peanut gallery " was quickly formed and the 
novelty and unexpectedness of the entertain- 
ment made it all the more enjoyable. Coming 
out on the car it was very jolly till they got on 
the switch waiting for the down car. Then the 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 21 7 

lights went out suddenly, the people all disap- 
peared, leaving the doors open and her alone in 
the dark. Ugh ! It was cold ! She shivered 
and rubbed her eyes. 

" I thought you never would wake up. I 
nearly roused the house by pounding on your 
ceiling, and had to come down in the cold after 
all. Where are your matches .'* It is ten min- 
utes past five and a dreary drizzle to greet you. 
There ! I upset all your Greek papers. Oh, 
dear ! Why doesn't some one eliminate Monday 
from the calendar } " 

I. L. v. 
Vassar Miscellany. 

A Conversation^ 

The room was empty, drearily so, but there 
was an unmistakable sound of whispering in 
the air. 

" Where are they all .'' " came in a stuffy 
voice from the direction of the window-seat. A 
long-drawn sigh was the only answer, and it 
was unmistakably from the clock. 

"The Plugger," said the stuffy voice, "where 



2l8 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

is he ? " " He's around," sighed the clock ; " he 
that used to be the paragon of virtues came in 
an hour ago, smoking a cigarette, and cussing 
himself for having taken three cuts already in 
Physics, — he was dressed for Hamp." 

" I must have been taking a nap," said the 
window-seat. " Where's the Cynic ? " 

" Married, and left college, — got a good posi- 
tion, I hear." 

" And the Sport ?'* in a faint voice. " I 
haven't heard," said the clock. 

There was a sob that seemed to come from 
the leather lounging-chair. ^' He graduated last 
June," said the chair; "and I hear" — with 
another sob — " that he's studying theology 
down in Andover." There was a long silence. 

"I liked him," sighed the clock, "though he 
used to sling boots at me in the morning for 
ringing the alarm just when he set it. He used 
to say I was like his overcoat, — always on 
tick." 

There was another solemn silence, broken by 
the clock, which continued in a brighter voice : 
" But they're not all gone. The Individual was 
in here this morning, with the Plugger. He 
was looking for a Horace trot. Said he'd 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 219 

almost educated himself to the point where he 
could read Horace without the aid of the Latin 
text. Hasn't changed any, either. He worried 
around quite a while trying to decide whether he 
ought to write to a girl that he knew for three 
days last summer. Said she asked him to, but 
he says he has the feeling that a fellow oughtn't 
to take advantage of things a girl says in the 
summer — any more than hold people to prom- 
ises made in their sleep. He thinks it's a sort 
of malady with 'em." 

"That's what the Sport always said," sighed 
the chair. " He never wrote letters, anyway. 
All the time he was with me he only wrote 
one, and that was in answer to a dun from 
Utterly. I remember it, because he sat on my 
arm and wrote it on a pad. It read : 

" H. A. Utterly, 

" ^Dear Sir : — Yours at hand ; I am in the 
habit of settling my acc'ts alphabetically, and 
will give yours attention when I get to U. 

" * Sincerely yours.' 

Wasn't bad, was it .? " 

" Ah, just like the Sport," said the window- 
seat ; " awfully sorry he's gone. When he was 



2 20 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

here those scrub ladies never dared to fill me 
up with rubbish every Friday." 

" Well," murmured the clock, " I guess there's 
more like him, — Amherst don't change for 
the worse, and if good men have gone, better 
ones'll come." 

*' What we need is a little more fair weather," 
muttered the chair. 

"Shut up," said the clock, "the Sport was 
too much for you — besides, here comes Prof. 
Charley for the waste paper basket." 

And silence reigned once more. 

Amherst Literary Monthly. 

His Last AppeaL 

"You have ruined my life," he wrote, and 
then stopped, for he was a thoughtful youth 
and generally considered what he said. He 
glanced back over the page and read it again. 
" Heartle-ss-ly you led me on, knowing all the 
time that you would one day break my heart, and 
glorying in the fact. Would we had never met. 
I felt your power over me from the first, but 
did not struggle against it. Why should I .? I 
thought you were pure, innocent, true, all 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 22 1 

that you seemed. Well do I remember that 
first night. We walked hand in hand in the 
moonlight by the long stretching beach. You 
were a revelation to me. An orphan, having 
neither mother nor sister in my childhood, it 
was not strange that you awakened in me all 
the delicate sensitiveness so long dormant. 
Since that hour every minute of my being has 
been a sacrifice to your presence. How I have 
striven to be to you what I hoped you would 
always be to me ! Last night all was a beauti- 
ful dream. To-night I stand overwhelmed with 
my loneliness. Once I had had no inspiration, 
now I have had it and lost it. Who is to blame ? 
Need I ask you } Let your false heart answer, 
if there be still one true voice left in it ; you 
have ruined me." 

He stretched out his arms upon the table 
and laid his aching head heavily upon them. 
Manly tears, long pent up, burst from his eyes 
as he murmured, '' No, no, not even the Boston 
Globe would accept that, and my board bill is 
due to-morrow." 

H. 

Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 



222 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Postmaster^s Story^ 

The ** Liars' Club " was holding its regular 
monthly meeting in the little old "grocery " at 
the Centre, and was now about to adjourn. 
There had been an unusually large attendance 
and the stories had been unusually good. The 
plug of tobacco, which was always the prize on 
such an occasion, had been won by Aaron Stod- 
dard for the third consecutive time. It was 
growing late ; in fact, the clock had already 
struck nine, when somebody suggested that the 
postmaster should bring the meeting to a close 
with a story. Now, it was not customary for 
the old man to join in the competition ; in fact, 
his position bordered on that of president, al- 
though there were no regularly appointed offi- 
cers. But on this occasion his smile indicated 
that he considered the suggestion with approval. 
So, after taking a light lunch of fresh Virginia 
leaf, he began : 

" Wall, boys, this hain't much of a story, but 
you all know ol' Sim Rexwood over Sherbu'n 
way — died 'bout ten, mebbe twelve years ago — 
used to stammer powerfully. It 'ud bin a good 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 2 23 

year for corn, and they'd bin bothered some by 
the squirrels. One day, as Sim was comin' up 
from the barn, where he'd been milkin', he saw 
one on the ridge-pole of the granary makin' a 
good deal of noise. " Ch-ch-chit-chitter away," 
said Sim, <'but I'll fix ye." So he went into 
the house and brought out one of them old-fash- 
ioned muskets, — the kind with three brass rings 
down the barrel, flint-lock, and hold about a 
handful of powder ; bin loaded three, mebbe 
six months. Sim took good aim, poked the 
muzzle up at the squirrel, fired, and the gun 
knocked him flat on his back. He was dazed 
for a moment, then he opened his eyes and saw 
the squirrel still on the ridge-pole, and it made 
him mad. "Ch-ch-chit-chitter away, cuss ye," 
he hollered, " but if ye'd b-b-bin at the other end 
of that g-gun, ye'd quit ch-ch-chit-chitterin'." 
And the meeting adjourned. 

John A. Thompson. 
Wesley an Literary Monthly. 



224 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



Bane and Antidote. 

This is the story of the sadness of a Fresh- 
man, and how his sadness was soothed. 

Dicky's ankle had been strained, some said 
by running up a hill in the early morning, some 
said by chasing a pig in the dusk of evening. 
And Dicky sat at his table on this night when 
the sorrow came on him, with his game leg 
propped in a cushioned chair. He was looking 
at a French grammar, thinking he was studying 
it, and all was going w^ell. Then a door, the 
front hall door down-stairs, opened and shut 
heavily, and Dicky, listening, could hear the 
sound of girls' voices. Now this is a strange 
thing in a Frat house, and only happens on 
Party Nights. This was Party Night. It was 
therefore that Dicky was sad. 

" Up here with this-sleg " — through clenched 
teeth, ''bucking Fre-hench " — this with a stifled 
— well — suspiration, '' while " — the rest of the 
sentence was drowned. A French grammar fell 
heavily in the opposite corner. 

Dicky grew bitter. " Oh, yes. This is sworn 
friendship for you, friendship and — brother- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 225 

hood," sardonic on this last word, " nice brother- 
hood. Not a fellow has stuck his head in here 
the whole evening — every last mucker grinning 
and capering down-stairs — and me a crip." Oh, 
well, these people were not of his sort, anyway. 
Say, the whole town was a lonesome hole. It 
wouldn't last always, though. Then Dicky 
studied the calendar. . . . Finally he sighed, 
and took up a pen. 

" Dear Mother : — The wind is whistling 
through the bare trees. The rain is beating 
upon the windows. I am alone in my room, 
and am so lonesome for all of you." Here Dick 
turned around. The bright moonlight smiled 
into the room, and the breeze from the open 
window scarcely stirred the curtain. He grinned 
sheepishly, and tore the letter into strips. Then 
he chewed one of the strips in deeper dejection 
than before. 

Dick could hear an occasional mug clinking 
the sides of the punch-bowl. The music struck 
up a familiar waltz. Merry feet were scraping 
to its measures. The boy's melancholy grew 
positively abysmal. He did not remember ever 
to have felt so bad. He wished he could think 
of something poetical and tragic to say. And 



2 26 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

finally recollecting having read about a fellow 
that wanted his flesh to melt, Dick sought and 
found comfort in " How weary, stale, fiat, and 
unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this 
world." Having read this speech through, with 
cramping throat and moistened eye Dick hob- 
bled to bed, with his nose feeling as if he had 
been drinking untold pop. 

A little later there came a tap at the door. 
Dick was drowsing. '' What you want .? " he 
grunted. Something metallic bumped slightly 
against the door, and Dick recognised the voice 
of the other Freshman : '' Open it, will you .? I've 
got my hands busy." Dick extended himself 
across a chair and turned the knob. The door 
was pushed in by a foot from the outside. The 
other Freshman entered. He was carrying a 
tray. " Oh, you're abed, old man. Weren't 
asleep, were you .? Thought you might like 
some of this stuff, you know. Shall I set it 
on the chair .? All right. Yes, swell time. 
Rotten shame you can't -be down. How's the 
limb .? " 

But Dick was looking at the tray — and melt- 
ing. There was cake with nuts in it. Punch, 
too. And ice-cream, a slice, with white, pink, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 227 

and green sections. As Dick's mouth filled, his 
heart kept it company ; clearly the fellows were 
not so bad. The world was not so dark a place 
after all. 

It was a half-hour after this that the Senior 
opened the door of Dick's room — without 
knocking. He had come up to tell Dick that 
Elsie had been inquiring after him. But the 
Senior only looked in, lit a match, and withdrew. 
The Freshman was slumbering nasally in pro- 
found and plethoric content. 

Edwin Snow. 
Wisconsin ^gis. 

The Conversion of Fredericks. 

The night of the mass-meeting Fredericks 
mused gloomily in his room. " It can't do any 
good, that's sure ; there'll be a lot of cheering 
and rot about Harvard spirit, and that'll be the 
end of it. Come in," he shouted, answering a 
feeble rap at the door. 

*^ Oh, it's you, is it. Brag } " he asked. 

"Yes," answered his tutor; "I thought I'd 
find you in to-night, so — " 



2 28 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"What made you think you'd find me in 
to-night ? " demanded Fredericks, savagely. 

" Why shouldn't I ? " queried the other, rais- 
ing his eyebrows. 

" Why, man ? Because we both ought to be 
at the mass-meeting. You know that as well 
as I do." 

" No, I don't. I hadn't thought of it. And 
since we're not there, let's get to work on this 
Phil ; that's what I came for." 

" It won't do any good. What's the use ? " 
muttered Fredericks, absently. 

" Well, you'd better try, — old Potter always 
gives a stiff exam." 

" Great heavens, man, can't you ever think 
of anything but marks and exams ? There's 
something going on to-night that vitally con- 
cerns us all ; that's going to effect a big change 
for the better. My — what are you grinning 
at } " 

Brag rose to go. " I'm grinning, as you're 
pleased to call it, because you're so hopelessly 
illogical to-night, that to try logic would be a 
waste of time. You'd better go over to the 
mass-meeting ; that's what you're thinking 
about." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 229 

'' No, I'm not. It can't do any good, as I said 
before. Sit down, old man ; fire away." 

The tutor opened his well-fingered book, and 
began to read straightway in a monotonous, nasal 
drone, which he varied occasionally by a quick 
explanation. 

"It would be fine, though, wouldn't it," 

broke in Fredericks, abruptly, "to meet all 

sorts of fellows, to find out what they're like, 

what they think, to make them think well of 

you .? " 

" I wish you would pay attention, please," 
said Brag, testily. Then he went on to explain 
with infinite patience the mysteries of Barbara, 
Celarent. But Fredericks heard only sounds. 
Suddenly there floated up from without a faint 
" Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Ha— ! " 

"That's the end of it," sighed Fredericks. 

" Not of this, though," answered his tutor, 
flushing, "You see, the first figure is easily 
the most important. You remember the dia- 
gram he gave in the lecture. Oh, that's so, you 
missed that one. Well, it's like this — " 

" Sh ! there's the band," interrupted Fred- 
ericks, eagerly. The faint, discordant sounds 
of " Up the Street " annoyed Brag exceedingly. 



230 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

He glanced impatiently at the clock. "Til 
come some other time," he said, stiffly. 

" Oh, sit down, there's a good fellow. You 
don't want me to flunk." 

Brag, the much enduring, sat down and began 
anew his interrupted explanation. But his pupil 
was not listening : the band, the noise was com- 
ing nearer, and, flunk or no flunk, he leaped to 
the window. Thence he saw, way down by Hol- 
worthy, a great black snake, twisting and wrig- 
gling, and lighting up strangely in different parts 
with transiently gleaming eyes. The serpent 
glided around Stoughton, toward him. At length 
the noisy animal reached University, and became 
a silent, amorphous mass of black. 

Brag continued to read and Fredericks lis- 
tened, quivering with excitement and scorn. 
The first barking cheer brought him with a 
bound to the window. But the tutor, deter- 
mined to finish the chapter, read loudly : *' Di- 
lemmatic arguments are, however, more often 
fallacious than not, because it is seldom pos- 
sible to find instances where two alternatives 
exhaust — " 

" Shut up, you cad," hissed Fredericks, almost 
crying. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 23 I 

From the depths of the darkness rose " Fair 
Harvard," a great, swelling paean of common 
joy and hope. Into the yard there rushed a 
hatless, coatless figure, singing like mad. 

Murray Seasongood. 

Harvard Advocate. 

The Freshman^s IdeaL 

Some of us have ideals. Some of us have 
ideals which we have supplied with costumes, so 
that however questionable a proceeding we may 
have entered upon, we feel that our ideals are 
still with us, garbed as becomes the occasion. 
And there are others who try to bring them- 
selves into harmony with their ideals, and not 
vice versa. Such a one is the hero of this little 
tale, which serves to show how we may uncon- 
sciously wreck the happiness of another. 

A certain Freshman had formed an attach- 
ment for a Senior. The attachment was not 
reciprocated, it is hardly necessary to state, 
since the Senior did not know of its existence. 
The Freshman had worshipped from afar. He 
had observed the authority the Senior's words 
had among his fellows ; he had seen the look 



232 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

of deference members of the faculty exhibited 
when they met him ; and most of all, he envied 
the high stand which he took in the good graces 
of the town maidens. All these points were 
carefully noted by the Freshman, and he said 
to himself, " Some day I will be a great and 
good Senior." But alas ! 

He had wandered one night, after an evening's 
grind, far into the country. The harvest moon 
brightened his path, and his active fancy was 
throwing a bridge over three years of his future, 
when he was startled by sounds of revelry. He 
looked into the adjoining field and beheld a 
barn, through the cracks of which he could see 
that the building was lighted up. How well he 
could picture the interior ! How often he had 
participated in similar scenes ! The piles of 
corn, the gallant youths, the jugs of cider, .and 
the pretty maidens, — in fancy he saw them all. 
Although he could not participate in their joy, 
he would at least view it. And in an instant 
he is over the fence and stumbling through the 
ploughed field which reaches to the side of the 
barn. He stoops and applies his eye to a con- 
venient knot-hole. He sees within a crowd of 
men, their coarse features intensified by the 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 233 

excitement they are experiencing. Every eye 
is focussed upon the two combatants in their 
midst. On the other side from him, his features 
clearly shown by the light of an overhanging 
lantern, his hair dishevelled, his scholarly brow 
wrinkled by the interest he feels, watch in hand, 
is the exemplary Senior. He is timing a dog 
fight ! 

An insuppressible lump rose in the Fresh- 
man's throat, and with tears in his eyes he with- 
drew his gaze from a scene which had blotted 
the light out of his life. 

John A. Thompson. 
Wesley an Literary Monthly. 

A College Revery^ 

Will that bell never ring } Time must be 
up. I am ashamed to look at my watch again. 
He saw me last time and I haven't done any- 
thing but gape for the last twenty minutes. I 
am positively the sleepiest man that ever dozed 
in a college class-room. Any one but a fool 
would have cut — except myself, with twenty- 
nine already after my name. By Jove ! I must 
pay attention. He is apt to call on me any 



234 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

time. Look at those girls in the front row. 
Girls? Well, perhaps! Anyhow, they write 
away as though they were taking down every 
word. Great Scott ! That was a narrow escape. 
He looked at me twice before he asked — I'm 
next. What was that question? "What was 
the next act of Peter the Great?" His — 
what was it? Ask me? Hang Peter the 
Great ! What is my next act ? That is much 
more to the point. That bell must be broken 
again. Just my luck. I've got to say some- 
thing — flunked yesterday. Bluff ? Yes, I will 
bluff a lot when I haven't caught a word for 
the last half hour. What's that he said about 
Poland ? What can I say about Poland ? Well, 
I will ! Hear that " Grad " apologise because 
he looked the fact up in only three authorities^ 
Ha! ha! Help! He's looking at me again. See 
that twinkle in his eye ! Knows he's got me. 
Confound these courses that are neither recita- 
tions nor lectures — don't give me any more 
of this half and half. My name ! Well, here's 
for a bluff or a flunk — Ah ! There goes the 
bell 1 Saved again ! 

T. 

University of Chicago Weekly. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 235 

Uncle Bill^s Opinions* 

I. ON INTEMPERANCE. 

Yes, children, drink is a bad thing ; indirectly 
it was the cause of Uncle Jake's death. I'll 
tell ye how it happened. 

On his fortieth birthday he gave one of them 
there swell birthday parties, and he had a big 
cake with forty candles a-burnin' on it, — one 
candle fur each year of his life. Wal, yer uncle 
got to drinkin' and drinkin', till finally he drank 
so gol durn much that he got to seein' double, 
and the next time he looked at that birthday 
cake he counted eighty candles instead of forty, 
and he died of old age, — all due to likker, 
children, all due to likker. 

II. ON ATHLETICS. 

What ! let you children go an' see them 
thar college students play football } Never ! 
Why, that game is the most brutal and dan- 
gerous game, by gosh, that was ever invented. 
I'd sooner let you walk under a ladder on 



236 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Friday with thirteen black cats a-folleren be- 
hind you. 

Why, jest to show you how all-fired danger- 
ous football is, take the case of yer cousin Silas, 
who died before you was born. He was down 
in the big city a-walkin' peaceably along, when 
a wagon come a-thunderin' down the road like 
hellbentfurelection, an' jest as Silas was crossin', 
the gol ding thing swooped down on him an' 
busted his leg fur life, by gosh ! We found out 
afterwards that that wagon was comin' from a 
football game, and that goes to show how all-fired 
dangerous the game is. That was back in '52. 

They didn't play football then, you say .-* 
Wal, if they had, that wagon would probably 
have been comin' from the game jest the same, 
'cause the driver always was fond of sports. 
Anyhow, it proves that it ain't no fit game fur 
you children to see. 

Princeton Tiger. 

On a High StooL 

If your train stopped long enough, and you 
knew the customs of the place, you hurried 
down behind the station to the little German's, 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 237 

where they sold rye bread and "delicatessen." 
There you sat on a high stool, with your eye on 
the clock, and ate the most delicious sausages, 
all hot and spicy, and drank the mustiest of ale, 
with your rye bread in among the swallows ; 
until the blue-eyed waiter looked out of the 
window and said : " Dot engin' is boggin' oop." 
Then you took one last, big mouthful, grabbed 
your change, and ran. 

Harvard Advocate, 

Little Tommy Atkins* 

It was his very, very dirty face which first 
attracted me ; that, and his brass buttons. He 
was devouring a large and greasy sandwich. 
After he had pitched the crust over the raiUng 
into the water, he came over and sat down near 
me. 

"Are you all alone.?" I said, pleasantly. 

" Yes, ma'am. I am on my way home from 
school." 

It was then the last week in August. I 
started, and gazed at him in amazement. 

" School ! What school .? " I gasped. Vague 
visions of reformatories passed through my mind. 



238 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

"The Cadet School of San Francisco," he 
answered, in a matter-of-fact tone, 

" Oh ! " I said. " A long vacation ? " 

"A month, and I'm home only two weeks of 
that, for it takes me a week to come and a week 
to go." 

I looked at the dirt on his face and believed 
him. 

" I'm going to be a sailor," he continued, see- 
ing that I was interested. " My father is second 
lieutenant on the Texas. He gets thirty-two 
dollars a month." 

He paused a moment to see how that would 
impress me, and then continued : " My oldest 
brother is in the navy, too. I've got a brother 
in the army, and I've got a sister who is a Red 
Cross nurse. She's in Cuba. My mother and 
the kids stay home." 

I felt like asking how, in that case, he hap- 
pened to be in San Francisco at school, but 
wisely refrained. Instead I asked him quite 
as foolish a question, — if he ever got sea- 
sick. 

" I ain't a girl," he said, calmly, but not 
impertinently. I never felt so keenly the 
inferiority of my sex as at that moment. So 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 239 

I changed the subject by asking him why he 
wished to be a sailor. 

His httle homely, freckled face lighted up. 
*'The United States needs sailors," he said, 
" so I am going to be a sailor." 

Could there be a stronger oath of allegiance 
to country than that .-* 

When the boat reached the dock in New 
York, "I'm almost home," he said. **We live 
in Hoboken. I wish vacation was longer. I 
see my mother only two weeks during a year, 
you know." 

The crowd was pushing toward the gang-plank. 

"Good-bye, Tommy Atkins," I said. 

" My name's Nelson Farrigan," he started to 
say, when a big man stepped behind him, and I 
saw him no more. But I call him Tommy 
Atkins all the same. 

Mary H. Fisher. 

Wellesley Magazine. 

Three O'clock, A. M. 

The theatre was just out and I was standing 
on Harrington corner waiting for a West Side 
car. The city hall clock was striking eleven. 



240 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

As the crowd surged by me I felt something 
pushed into my palm ; my first impulse was to 
close my hand, the next to see what my prize 
was. It proved to be a crumpled piece of 
paper, and in the half light from a drug store I 
made out the following : 

*' Meet me here at three to-morrow morning." 

There was no signature. 

The problem of standing in a foot of floor 
space and balancing in a swinging car by a 
strap, kept me so busy that I forgot my queer 
letter till I was comfortably settled before the 
cheerful fire in my room. Feeling through my 
pockets for a match, I came across the crumpled 
missive. I examined it closely and saw that it 
was written in a strong hand on good paper. 
Although not an expert, I felt convinced that 
it was a man's writing. Now, who in the world 
could want me at three in the morning ! No 
one that I could think of ; and being of an 
imaginative nature I had soon made up a beau- 
tiful story. The clock striking twelve aroused 
me. " Come," said I, " I must get a little 
sleep if I am going to keep my appointment." 
I had determined to see it through. I did not 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 24 1 

go to bed, but set my alarm clock at 2.30, and 
wrapping myself in a blanket, was soon sleeping 
on the couch. 

The discordant jangle of the alarm seemed 
out of place in my dream of a summer sailing 
party, but I jumped up, and by quarter of three 
I was ready to start. I had put on a pair of 
old knickerbockers, a heavy sweater to guard 
against the chill of the fall morning, and a small 
cap. I had debated whether to take a re- 
volver or no, but decided in favour of a stout 
hickory stick which I had cut years ago in 
the mountains. 

I could not suppress a low laugh as I care- 
fully let myself into the quiet street. The 
electric lights went out just as I turned into 
Pleasant Street, and over Newton Hill I could 
see the rim of the moon disappearing. Not a 
living being was in sight, and the night seemed 
to grow darker every minute. I crossed Main 
Street and took my place on the corner just as 
the clock began to strike three. The last 
stroke was dying away when some one touched 
my arm. I jumped, for I had heard no one 
come up. It was Tom Finegan, the night 
policeman, who had disturbed me, and who said, 



242 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

in a gruff voice, " Well, you came, did you ? " 
" Yes, I've come. What do you want me for ? " 
Tom was six feet four, a lean, lank Irishman 
with a bulldog jaw, and twinkling blue eyes, 
the kind that sometimes turn hard and glitter 
like steel ; when they do, wise and understand- 
ing men stand from under. At the present 
moment, as near as~ I could see, an almost 
infantile smile shone over his face as, in answer 
to my question, he said, " I've got something to 
show you." I looked at him carefully, but 
could get no clue from his face. ** Well, hurry 
up," I said. We started down Main Street at a 
good pace and turned up Foster. 

The old rink loomed up large and dark, and 
in the deep shadow I saw a team. In a 
moment we had reached it. It was the " Hurry- 
up " wagon. " Get in, sir," said big Tom, and, 
being too surprised to resist, I was helped up 
the steps by a powerful shove. " What in the 
name of thundering blazes is this for ? " I 
thought, as we rattled over the rough street. I 
looked at Tom, but his face was fixed as a 
sphinx. I had just made up my mind to ask him, 
when we stopped about a hundred yards from 
the Union Depot. A familiar voice sounded 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 243 

out of the darkness, " How do you like riding 
in the patrol wagon ? " It was my friend Billy 
Williams, the detective. I began to expostu- 
late, but couldn't well continue angry at Billy 
when he went on : '' You know last week you 
said you wondered how people felt when they 
rode in the ' Hurry-up,' so I gave you a chance ; 
and you wanted to see how a man acted when 
he was trying to get away from the law and was 
arrested suddenly. Tom Southard, the New 
York forger, is going through on the 3.40 
express, and we are going to nab him. Come 
on. I knew you would want to come, and it 
was too good a chance to give the go-by." 

Billy is a good fellow, but I can't say that I 
think he has a very delicate sense of humour. 

John Gregson, Jr. 

Bowdoin Quill. 

Poor Little Reginald* 

I hadn't seen Mrs. Peter, young Mrs. Peter, 
I mean, since Easter. That was nearly six 
months before, and in six months, I protest, one 
may be forgiven for forgetting a great many 
things. 



244 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

We conversed for some little time about 
commonplaces not worth the repeating. 

" You remember little Reginald ? " inquired 
Mrs. Van Holt at last, with a plaintive droop 
of the voice. 

I hesitated long enough to review mentally a 
squadron of yellow-haired and leather-beleg- 
ginged Little Lord Fauntleroys who belonged, 
severally, to the young married ladies of my 
acquaintance. Was there a Reginald among 
them .? I thought so. Still — ^' You cannot 
have forgotten Reginald, I am sure," she added, 
a little reproachfully, with emphasis on the 
" sure." 

" Certainly not," I answered, quickly ; " who 
could forget the dear little fellow ? " 

"We lost him last summer," said she, sadly. 

" I cannot express how your words grieve and 
surprise me," I hastened to say. " It is very 
strange that I did not hear of it. Was he ill 
long .? " 

" He wasn't ill exactly, — I shouldn't say," 
she replied, pensively. "He died of internal 
injuries, the doctor said." 

" An accident ?" I suggested, sympathetic- 
ally. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 245 

" Yes, he was run over by a cab in front of 
the house, and died a few hours later." 

" How dreadful ! " I exclaimed. " What a 
shock it must have given you, Mrs. Van Holt." 

" I am sure it did. Indeed, Peter said it was 
wrong for me to take it so much to heart as I 
did. He said it was a sin ; but I don't think 
it was, do you .? " 

^'The duty of restraining one's grief at the 
losses of those one loves, is a duty more hon- 
oured in the breach than in the observance, I 
fancy," said I. I felt quite proud of that 
remark. For a man not given to making moral 
reflections, it seemed to me rather good. 

'' Now you are laughing at me," cried Mrs. 
Van Holt, pettishly. " You men have no feel- 
ing, any of you." 

'* You wrong me, I assure you," I protested, 
vehemently. Peter Van Holt might be a brute, 
but I was not. *' You wrong me deeply," I con- 
tinued, "in believing for a moment I would 
scoff at maternal affection, that purest — " 

I stopped. There was something like a smile 
lurking in Mrs. Van Holt's features. Then I 
realised my blunder. I was furious. How, in 
Heaven's name, could a man be expected to 



246 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

remember all the miserable little curs that fool- 
ish women might choose to lavish their affec- 
tions upon ? 

" We have been having beautiful weather for 
the last few days, have we not ? " said Mrs. Van 
Holt, sweetly. 

Percival Henry Truman. 

Williams Literary Monthly, 

Lunches^ 

It is amusing to watch the different charac- 
teristics of the girls in one class as shown by 
their lunches. One girl, who is very particular 
in her manners and conversation, has a small, 
neat lunch-box with each article wrapped up sepa- 
rately in white tissue-paper. Her bread sand- 
wiches, about half the size of ordinary ones,. are 
nearly as thin as chips. A hearty, whole-souled 
girl usually sits beside her, and their lunches 
are as different as the girls themselves. The 
latter has a large leather box filled with good 
substantial sandwiches, fat pickles, and usually a 
generous piece of pie, the size of which fairly 
makes one hungry. These are packed neatly in 
a big, snowy napkin. There is another lunch 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 247 

that is particularly characteristic of its owner, 
who is one of these restless, high-spirited girls, 
always rushing from one thing to another. Her 
grapes and cake are usually mashed together in 
a confused state at the bottom of the box, while 
a large heavy apple stands boldly on top of the 
wreck, regardless of consequences. 

E. M. T. 

The College Folio. 

Her Key* 

"Are you sure this is the right key .'*" The 
girl on the steps stopped humming the Babbie 
Waltz long enough to answer : 

*' Of course ; I got it of Miss R and 

signed my name all regular and proper." 

" Sure you didn't make a mistake and bring 
your gym. key ? Smallest door-key I ever saw," 
he growled, as he lit another match and with 
wonderful self-control silently bent his knees 
again and tried once more to fit the key into 
the gloomy lock. Ten minutes more ; and 
then : 

" Really, Mr. Van Wycke, haven't you got 
that door open yet ! Is this the first time 



248 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

you've ever been to St. Nancy's Hall ? " This 
was superfluous, considering the extremely few- 
nights that he had been anywhere else. 

"Let me try it," confidently. He silently 
handed it over. 

After a few minutes she said, " Why, what 
do you suppose is the matter } " 

" Where did you get the key 1 " asked Mr. 
Van Wycke, calmly. 

" I asked Miss R for a night key ; told 

her where I was going, with whom, what I was 
going to wear, and all the topics of conversation, 
— she was writing a speech and just gave me 
this, and I hurried out without looking at it. I 
had kept you waiting so long, you know." 

" That's nothing very unusual ! I'm getting 

used to that. Where does Miss R keep 

the latch-keys .? " 

<* In a cunning little box just — " 

« Locked } " 

"Yes, with a little padlock." 

" Then she gave you the key to the box and 
thought you were clever enough to unlock the 
cunning little box yourself to get your key, and 
you — " 

"And I just took the padlock key and 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 249 

thought it was the door-key ! Isn't that a 
joke ? " and she laughed as if it really was. 

*'And now, my dear young friend, how are 
you going to get in ? " 

" Mercy ! How am I ? " 

'' Shall I ring ? " 

*' Who would answer it ? Do you suppose 
the maids are up at one o'clock at night ! " 

" Won't some of the girls hear you and come 
down?" 

" They'd think it was the rising bell and sleep 
right on." How warm and light the beautiful 
old hall looked between the maroon curtains 
across the square plate of glass in the big 
door. 

" Well, we might sit down on the steps 
awhile," said Mr. Van Wycke, cheerfully. 
" Perhaps some one will come. Besides, this is 
a good time for you to answer that question." 

She was gazing interestedly over at Haskell, 
looming dark against the windy sky. " Did you 
ever notice the crosses on the tops of all these 
buildings "^ " she asked, innocently. 

"Now, Florence, what's the use of wJting 
till you're graduated } July is three ■" .onths 
off. You can answer me now just as vvell as 



250 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

then. We'll play this is July, if you insist on 
July." 

" Oh, no, we can't ! It's against the Univer- 
sity rules, and besides, I — I think I'm taking 
cold.'^ 

" You are ! We've got to get into this house ! 
Would it scare the St. Nancy maidens to death 
if I should throw pebbles against their win- 
dows ? " 

" No, because there isn't any one on the 
second floor this vacation, except Barbara, and 
she's afraid to stay alone on the second." 

" We must find some way. You can't stay 
here on the door-step all night," energetically. 

"No, Miss R wouldn't approve." 

" I can't take you to the Del Prado this time 
of night — really, my dear girl, this is serious." 

"We might put a ladder against the fire 
escape," she offered. 

" I forgot to bring a ladder to-night. Are you 
cold ? Let me have your hands." 

"Or wake up Kelly," she continued. "Oh, 
I know ! " suddenly. " The night watch ! He 
has a key ; go find him — no I'm not cold." 

" Well, I'll go ; but, Florence, you'll tell me 
before July, won't you .-* " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 25 1 

'' Let's see ; you're a graduate student, and it 
isn't against the rules unless they are under- 
graduates." He made a sudden motion. " No, 
no. Go find the watchman ! It's nearly two 
o'clock ! " 

Fanny Crawford Burling. 
University of Chicago Weekly. 

In the Reading-room. 

Now and then, in the noise of scraping feet 
and squeaking chairs, there came a momentary 
silence which filled the whole reading-room ; a 
silence as if each reader were looking up from 
his book and wondering at the stillness of every 
one else. Then the feet of some late-comer 
pattered on the iron steps, and the readers 
buried their heads again under the green 
lamps. 

Men shifted their feet on the cross-beam 
underneath the desks. Near me a nervous 
student, writhing with the weariness of sitting 
still, dealt a shrewd kick to the shins of his 
invisible opposite ; above the yellow, wooden 
partition rose two heads at once, — one aggres- 
sive, one apologetic. 



252 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Books began to be shut noisily ; the gaps in 
the bright red rows on the shelves began to be 
filled up ; down the stairs men went plunging, 
two steps at a time ; and soon the attendant, 
who went about snapping with metallic clicks 
the screws of the electric lights, stopped short, 
and in a high, sing-song voice called out, " Li- 
brary closed ! " 

Harvard Advocate. 

Seen from the Road* 

The weather-beaten cabin stood ten or twelve 
feet from the driveway. The space between 
was an arid desert on a small scale, and was 
peopled by a little black boy of about three 
years, who was playing at "parlour car con- 
ductor," I imagined, for as he trotted his tiny 
black feet about, he would call out : " Par car 
dis way ! Par car dis way ! " Presently a large 
negress appeared in the doorway with her arms 
akimbo and great beads of perspiration upon her 
forehead. Her hair was bound tightly back 
with a red bandanna, knotted on the top of her 
head, while round gold rings glittered in her 
ears. She watched the boy a moment, and 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 253 

then said, slowly : " Look yere, Ebennizer, ef 
yo' don' wan' to sunstruck yo'se'f, yo' better 
come in de house ! " 

Charles Otis Judkins. 

Wesley an Literary Monthly. 

The Love of Lop-Ear* 

ToMAS and Sesena had lost a burro. For a 
week the swarthy Chollos had followed burro 
tracks through the dense brush, but without 
finding the missing Lop-Ear. 

Every one within ten miles of the Juarez 
tienda knew that the travellers were looking 
for ''one burra vieja^ very thin, very sore- 
backed, one ear lopping over, very close 
hobbled." 

At last word came that a vaquero had seen 
their burro fourteen miles to the south. " Pen- 
dejo animal!'' exclaimed Tomas, "all times 
does that wife of the devil walk, walk, walk, 
back for Santa Rosalia." 

Before sun-up the next morning the travellers 
were on their way down the valley, and dusk 
was falling when they returned, this time driv- 
ing the miserable little animal before them. 



254 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Poor, wretched Lop-Ear ! Of all the victims of 
Mexican cruelty your lot is the hardest. But 
the greasy loungers hanging around the tienda 
had nothing but laughter and jokes for the 
misery of the little beast that shambled by, 
never even wincing when Tomas prodded her 
bleeding flanks or when Sesena's club fell on 
her protruding hip-bones. 

Tomas, who presently came back for some 
panoche, said to the storekeeper in jerky, excita- 
ble Spanish : 

" We come from Santa Rosalia, nine hundred 
miles to the south. That child of evil had one 
colt too young to travel, so we left him behind. 
Now all the time she wants to go back. We 
hobble her when we stop to make coffee, and 
she starts back for Santa Rosalia. We tie her 
up, and she eats nothing, but stands at the end 
of her riata and looks with her one ear, back 
toward Santa Rosalia. Her hobbles wear her 
ankles to the blood, but when we camp at the 
day's end, she walk, walk, walk all night for 
Santa Rosalia," and without waiting for the 
polite condolence of the tiendero, he took his 
package and hurried on after Sesena. 

In the morning they were up betimes, and 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 255 

making ready to continue their journey. Lop- 
Ear cringed nearly to the ground when they 
placed the heavy carga on her festering back, 
and then, with pitiful apathy, stood limply while 
her masters threw all their strength into tighten- 
ing the lash-ropes. With short, weak steps, 
she followed the jack along the trail that crossed 
the narrow, pine-clad ridge and zigzagged down 
the abrupt mountainside to the level of the 
cactus desert that spread out below. 

Every burro is a marvel of vitality, but even 
burro-vitality has a limit, and the jump-offs, 
cat-steps, and sliding places of that precipitous 
trail tried the failing powers of the worn-out 
animal to their utmost. Lop-Ear was barely 
able to stagger along when at last she made her 
way through the iron-woods to the water-hole 
at the edge of the desert. 

Tomas looked up at the rugged mountain as 
he loosened her pack-ropes, and said with a 
satisfied grin : 

" I guess this night Lop-Ear won't start back 
for Santa Rosalia." 

" Quien sabe ? " replied his companion. 
"You'd better hobble her, anyway." 

Night soon fell, and the Mexicans, too tired 



256 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

to enjoy their after-supper cigarettes, spread 
their blankets on the warm sand and fell 
asleep. 

The sun was high over the desert when Sesena 
awoke, and it was not till he had made a fire 
and mixed the flour for the tortillas that Tomas 
arose and went out after the burros. 

In a short time he returned driving the jack, — 
Lop-Ear was not to be found. 

After considerable talking and shoulder-shrug- 
ging, the exasperated men ate a hasty breakfast 
and started out to search for the missing animal. 
Presently Tomas found her tracks. 

" Aah-00-oo-aah," he yodled. 

** Aah-00-oo-aah," answered Sesena, and was 
soon at his companion's side. There on the 
smooth, white sand he saw where Lop-Ear, with 
her little two-inch steps, had started back for 
Santa Rosalia. 

"She can't be up there," he said, staring 
blankly at the rugged mountainside. 

" There are her tracks," replied Tomas. 

Yes ; there were her tracks, and a few yards 
up the hill lay the rawhide thong they had tied 
around her ankles. Clotted hair on the jagged 
rocks showed where she had fallen and had 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 257 

struggled out of her hobbles. Well, there was 
nothing to do but to follow her. 

Up, up they clambered. Half-way to the top 
they found blood-soaked hairs on the loose stones 
at the bottom of a slide. 

" Wife of the devil ! " muttered Tomas. 
" Look where she fell." 

The shadows of the mountain were stretching 
far out across the desert, and the Mexicans had 
worked their way nearly to the top of the 
range. They were hurrying now, for they 
were afraid that Lop-Ear would gain the dense 
underbrush of the plateau. Suddenly they 
heard a clatter among some jagged ledges a 
half-mile above. 

" Hurry, or we lose her," panted Sesena, and 
the men redoubled their efforts. At last the 
beetling crags were gained. Then at a sudden 
turn in the trail they came upon Lop-Ear. 
There, where she had fallen back from a sharp 
flight of cat-steps, lay the little mother ; her 
head sunk between the poor maimed legs that 
were still gathered as though about to rise and 
struggle on toward the foal at Santa Rosalia. 

H. F. COOLIDGE. 

Stanford Sequoia. 



258 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



How I Recovered^ 

Monday morning I caught a cold. Tuesday 
morning I went to a homoeopath. He looked at 
my tongue and gave me some Purity Kisses. 
Wednesday morning I went to a surgeon. He 
tapped my chest, examined my bowels by means 
of the X-ray, gave me a drink made of checker- 
berry and assafoetida, and told me to boil my 
feet in hot water. Thursday I went to an allo- 
path. He felt of my pulse and said, " My son, 
you have got whooping-cough ; don't go near 
any babies." But I got no better. Friday I 
left off smoking. Now I am all right. 

Harvard Advocate. 

A Filibustering Father^ 

" No," said the captain, in his slow " down- 
east" drawl, "sence mother died, father don't 
care for nothing but filibustering. There's a 
pile of money in it, too." 

We were beating down the lower bay aboard 
a small cutter. The rest of the party were 
sitting forward, but I had stayed aft to talk to 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 259 

the captain, a long acquaintance with him having 
taught me that he never failed to be a delightful 
companion, 

" Seems a kinder pity," he went on, pres- 
ently ; " father'd be a rich man now, if he didn't 
drink up every cent he made." 

I admitted that this was to be regretted. 

** He most got ketched last winter," the cap- 
tain continued, a faint smile illuminating his 
usually expressionless countenance. *' They 
fitted out a vessel up to Brooklyn. Guess I 
know the firm that done it, too. Folks got 
kinder suspicious when they see father waiting 
round, and began to ask where she was a-going, 
so father, he jest made up his mind that he'd 
meet her down to Baltimore, where they was 
a-going to take the ammunition aboard. That 
was all right enough. Father he went down 
there and waited until she come into the har- 
bour one evening ; then he was a-going to get 
the stuff on her quick, and get away before 
morning. Well, one way or another, the Span- 
ish consul got wind of it, and when father went 
down to the dock about twelve o'clock one 
night, he found two men there, with orders not 
to let any one lay a finger to the ammunition, 



26o CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

and to arrest any one who tried it. They was 
a-going to hold her till they found out more 
about her. That didn't suit father. There's 
some men would have gone back to New York. 
Filibustering, you get half your money when 
you undertake the job, and half when you 
deliver your cargo. Some men would have 
been content with the half of the money, but 
father ain't that sort. He sat and talked with 
them two for awhile, then he jest hired a row- 
boat, and rowed out to the vessel, and brought 
back four of the crew. They was all big men, 
and father he told them on the way how to gag 
a man before he gets a chance to holler, though 
I reckon they knew it before he told them. He 
brought them up to the men who was on the 
dock, and they all sat around on them barr'ls as 
sociable as you please. After awhile father he 
feels in his pockets and brings out a couple of 
ten-dollar bills. 

" * Say,' says he, 'there's a dock about a mile 
away from here, and if you two was to go and 
watch there you'd have less work and make 
more money.' 

"They said they guessed they'd stay where 
they was, and they began to get ugly, so father 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 26 1 

jest passed the word to his four men, and I 
don't rightly know how they done it, but the 
next morning that boat and that ammunition 
and them two men, they was all on their way to 
Cuba. Anyway, that's what father says, but I 
wouldn't be surprised if the men never got 
much farther than the bottom of the harbour. 
Father's real self-willed when you cross him." 

Alice Duer. 
Columbia Literary Monthly. 

Duets* 

Two met on a highway. " Go no farther ! " 
said one. 

" Know you not who I am 1 " said the other. 
"I go where I list; I am Love." 

*' You can go no farther," said the first. " I 
am Death." 

"I will grant you two desires," said Life to 
the youth. " What would you t " 

" I am blind," said the youth. " Open my 
eyes." And Life did so. 

" Now what is the other wish } " asked Life. 

" Make me blind again," answered the youth. 



262 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" I have found the secret of the universe," 
said one. 

" And I, too," said the other. 
'' But you are only a lover," said the first. 
'' And you are only a scientist," answered the 
second. 

Arthur Lawson Goodwillie. 

Williams Literary Monthly. 

ChapeL 

The great bell clangs out through the morning 
air, sending its summons over the white-crusted 
campus. The slippery walks are crowded with 
black figures moving toward Taylor Hall, single, 
in groups of twos and threes, wrapped close with 
shawls and hoods, half of them umbrellaless. 
Voices fall as they enter, and amid friendly jost- 
ling around the bulletin-board and in the cloak- 
room, whispered greetings are exchanged. Then 
up-stairs to the silent chapel, with its white 
windows made whiter by the frost. The black 
mortar-boards nod their tassels in cheery greet- 
ing ; subdued talk between neighbours fills the 
room with a low hum. A sudden hush ; the 
talk stops ; the heads are still ; a moment's 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 263 

pause, and the service has begun. All are to- 
gether for once in the day, with no distinction 
of class or grade. All are alike children, and 
children of Bryn Mawr. At the close of the 
prayer another moment's silence. Then a sud- 
den movement. The bell clangs out again. A 
general rush to classes, to the office, to one's 
room. The day has begun. 

L. s. B. 
The Bryn Mawr Lantern. 

A Bargain* 

The painter's wife had come all the way up 
to the studio ; her soft hair and quiet unobtru- 
sive little face looked pale and monotonous in 
the gray north light from above. The painter 
softened his brushes in a tin of turpentine, and 
laid them away. He glanced across the big 
bare room at the slender figure and raised his 
eyebrows. 

" I came up to get you, Jim — if — if you are 
coming home to supper," she said. 

^' I'm sorry you took that trouble," he an- 
swered, *' I'm dining out. I thought I told 
you." 



264 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

'* I know, Jim, but I was so lonesome. I read 
till I was tired, — I was reading ' Tess,' you know, 

— and I got nervous and fidgety, and I went to 
see Mrs. Taylor on the floor below, and — and 

— I wondered whether you wouldn't have sup- 
per home to-night. You haven't for four days. 
Why, Jimmy, your model sees more of you 
than I." 

'* You have given yourself rather a needless 
journey, then, because I am promised for this 
evening. I'm glad you satisfied your suspicions, 
though. I sent her home an hour ago — if you 
care to take my word, that is." 

** Oh, oh ! How can you say such nasty 
things ! I only wanted to have you home this 
one evening. You aren't very good to me now, 
Jim, I think. And I have such a nice hot sup- 
per, and that salad you like. You used to 
say — '* 

" Spare us the description, please, Nellie. I 
am really very sorry." He took off his working 
blouse. '* There's nothing else, is there.-* If 
you'll excuse me, I will clean up." 

^' I'm going in a minute, Jim. I didn't mean 
to interrupt you. I am afraid I spoiled a sitting 
yesterday, coming in. No, don't bother to come 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 265 

with me. I know the stairs. Good-bye." She 
closed her Hps firmly, and went carefully down 
the flight of narrow stairs into the street 
crowded with home-going shop people. 

Three months later she went away with 
another man, who said he cared for her. He 
died, it seems, and no one has heard of her 
since. However, such pictures as Jimmy's 
cannot be had for nothing. For my part, since 
I have seen "The Harvesters," and that study 
of a " Girl in Gray," and " The Greatest of These 
is Charity," — the last and finest of all (I saw 
that at the Metropolitan with its salon number 
fresh in the corner), — I can only think the world 
had all the best of the bargain. 

John Saunders Oakman. 

Williams Literary Monthly. 

A Comedy^ 

It was near the end of the evening, and in 
the big ballroom was to be observed that semi- 
demoralisation that comes with the small hours, 
when one's cotillon partner is off somewhere 
talking to some one else and some other person 
is talking to you. A rollicking polka was being 



266 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

played and flushed faces and merry tongues 
told plainly that hearts were light as well as 
feet. A dark-eyed girl with a bewitching 
knot of red velvet in her hair, and a big 
bunch of violets at her waist, was talking 
earnestly to a rather tall young man, irre- 
proachably dressed and remarkably depressed 
in appearance. His white-gloved hands toyed 
nervously with his watch charm, and his lips 
were compressed in anything but an amiable 
manner. 

" And so our pretty day-dream topples over," 
said the girl, trying to laugh a little as she 
spoke. Her smile found no answer in her com- 
panion's face. 

" Yes," he answered, " like all that is worth 
having in life, it topples over when you are 
almost sure of it. What a dog's existence it is, 
to be sure." 

"Ah, no," said the girl, leaning forward, "do 
not say that. She is a charming girl. You 
will be happy — " 

''Happy.?" he echoed, bitterly; "I might 
have been happy with you, but not with her. 
I thought I loved her, but I found it was like 
all thought, — fleeting. Oh," he added, more 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 267 

vehemently, "it cannot be. There must be 
some way out of it. I love you — " 

" Hush ! " she exclaimed, softly. A girl in 
white was passing ; a girl with great hazel eyes 
and a superb figure. 

"I love you," he went on, "and you alone. 
Can't we do something ? " 

"No," she replied, "we can't. You would 
not want to throw her over, and you know it. 
It is unworthy of you. Your engagement — " 

" Yes, yes, yes," he broke in, fretfully, " I 
know, I know. You are right, as you always 
are. I must keep my word. There are too 
many broken engagements nowadays." 

"When is the marriage ? " she asked, softly. 

" Easter Monday," said the man. " You 
must come, you know." 

" Like a lamb at the altar," she answered. 

A moment afterward she was whirled away 
by a pale young man with eye-glasses and a 
chronic smile. 

" If I had known you loved me," said the girl 
with hazel eyes to her companion, " I don't 
think I would ever have contracted this engage- 
ment." 



268 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Break it, then, break it," replied he, eagerly. 
" Must all our lives be ruined because you think 
you must keep your word and marry this man ? 
Perhaps he does not love you. Who knows ? " 

" Why do you tempt me in this way } " she 
answered, half angrily. " Don't you suppose I 
know that he loves me, and knowing it, ^ould 
you have me break the engagement and his 
heart at the same time.-* I tell you I must 
marry him, and you must be content to know 
that you have my love and that I would marry 
you if I could." 

It was a superb wedding, an irreproachable 
display of palms, a wedding-march by a famous 
organist, and a bishop to marry them. The 
bridegroom was not in the least embarrassed, 
and the bride's gown was perfection. What 
more would you have .-* As the happy couple 
turned to come down the aisle the groom felt 
almost contented. Had he not sacrificed him- 
self for another ; given up his own best longings 
to keep his faith with the girl at his side.? 
There was a dark-eyed girl in the tenth pew 
who looked at him very curiously, and for the 
first time he seemed a trifle disconcerted. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 269 

However, that is transitory. He has accom- 
plished the sacrifice of his hfe. Could anything 
be more satisfactory ? 

As for the bride, she is very pale. Women 
unfortunately cannot wholly conceal their feel- 
ings. But she smiles, and deep down in her 
heart is a feeling of pride at her own unselfish- 
ness. Of course it's hard, but at the same time 
it's heroic, and that little spark of self -adoration 
which is inherent in the feminine breast blazed 
up and sparkled merrily. Alas, he — neither of 
the hesy in fact — would ever know what she had 
done for him. There he was, half-way down the 
aisle. The bride trembled a little and looked 
down. 

And so the church door closed behind them, 

and the two martyrs had taken the first step in 

married life. The world said it was a love 

match, and very successful, and the conclusion 

is that there is nothing like self-sacrifice, 

after all. 

Guy Wetmore Carryl. 

Columbia Literary Monthly, 



270 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



From the Heights. 

They were sitting side by side upon the 
Heights, where the spring sunsliine, sifting 
through the leaves, lay in golden spots on the 
grass. The air was full of spring sounds, a 
soft, indefinite harmony, — the singing of hylas 
in the ponds, the twittering of birds, and the 
faint snapping sound that the pine-boughs make 
when the- tiny needles burst through the 
winter sheath. The grass was powdered with 
spring-beauties. Far below them lay the city, 
with here and there a broad banner of smoke 
rising and stretching away over the intense blue 
of the sky. Beyond, a line of deeper blue 
revealed the lake. 

They had not spoken for a long time. The 
girl's eyes rested on the distant horizon, and 
there was a look in their gray depths of intens- 
est happiness, — happiness so intense as to be 
almost pain. His eyes were on her face. He 
was thinking how beautiful she was with the 
Madonna look in her eyes and the soft tendrils 
of her brown hair lightly touching her forehead. 
She seemed a long way from him, and he won- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 27 1 

dered whether he loved her. And she, with her 
eyes on the far horizon, where now and then a 
sail shone white in the sunshine, she was think- 
ing of him. She heard the birds around her ; 
she smelled the fragrance of springing grass 
and bursting buds ; she felt the wonder of it all, 
but all the sensations of her soul were blended 
into one feeling of ineffable joy. 

A woodpecker began to drum loudly on a 
tree near by, and half startled, the girl turned 
and met the man's eyes. It was only an instant 
that they looked at each other, but it seemed a 
long time to him before she dropped her eyes 
from his face. He was almost certain now 
that he loved her, and she — was realising that 
he did not. 

The breeze, catching a fold of lace, blew it 
across her throat. The man leaned over her 
and laid his hand on hers, very gently. She 
shivered a little. " Come, let us go home," she 
said. And rising, they went down from the 
Heights together. 

Marian Warner Wildman. 

College Folio. 



272 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



The Ways of Woman* 

" Why is it always so hot when we want to 
play tennis ? " I asked. 

" I'm sure I don't know," answered Patty, 
"but it is, isn't it?" 

I assented. Patty leaned back in the wicker 
chair and fanned herself with her sailor-hat. 
Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and the 
saucy curls about her forehead were damp and 
bedraggled. We had just been partners in a 
set of doubles and had been badly beaten. 
Patty makes up in grace and a pretty appear- 
ance what she lacks in efficiency as a player. 

''There's a dance to-night," I resumed; 
"shall I take you to it.?" 

" Oh, I don't know," said Patty, with a great 
show of indifference. "I half promised to go 
with Tom, and I really ought, you know." She 
watched me with a malicious smile. 

I don't think I ever hated Tom quite as much 
as I did then. 

"Why, you said awhile ago that you would 
never go to another with him, because he dances 
so poorly," I remonstrated. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 273 

"Really," said Patty, "I don't see that it 
matters if I don't go everywhere with you. I 
have concluded to go with Tom to-night," she 
added, decidedly. 

I looked across the court, then an idea struck 
me. 

" I'm very sorry," I said, "but I must leave 
you for a few moments. I must speak with 
Miss Henry," and I started to go. 

Patty looked up in a startled way. 

" You're not going to ask her, are you ? " she 
queried. 

" Why, yes," I said, " she's such a fine dancer, 
and so nice, you know." 

"But she's got red hair," said Patty, as if 
that possession were a crime. 

" Not red, auburn," I corrected, "and it's very 
pretty, too." I looked attentively across at the 
young lady in question. 

"And she talks so loud. You're surely not 
going to ask her .? " Patty seemed to be taking 
it quite to heart. " Why don't you let Tom 
take her ? He usually does." 

" But Tom's going to take you," the game 
was going my way, "and what would I 
do ? " 



2 74 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Patty looked confused. ''Why, you could 
take me." 

" You're very good," said I, " but Miss 
Henry — " 

" I'll tell Tom about it," rejoined Patty. 
" Don't you want to walk to the house with 
me ? " 

We rose and went slowly across the lawn to 
the piazza. Patty paused at the door. "And 
I'll be ready at eight," she said. 

"Very well," I answered, "but since I have 
been so good, don't you think I deserve a 
reward ?'' I looked at her meaningly. 

"Don't be silly," said Patty, and closed the 
door in my face. 

Sherman Roberts Moulton. 

Dartmouth Literary Monthly. 

A Stray Sympathy* 

A THRONG of busy shoppers pushed and 
jostled one another good-naturedly, as they 
passed and repassed on Boylston Street. It 
was near Christmas time, as any one might 
know from the shop windows and the bundles 
and the good nature which pervaded the air. 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 275 

On the sidewalk stood a small newsboy, his 
face distorted by the ridiculously pathetic weep- 
ing of childhood, his cheeks streaked with dirt 
and tears, the little hands which vainly offered 
the papers to each passer-by, blue with cold. 
An impostor, of course, as every one accosted 
by the tearful voice saw at a glance. But the 
face of the little lad crying, on the Boston 
streets, haunted one shopper for days. An 
impostor ? Probably, but — it was Christmas 
time. M. B. M. 

Wellesley Magazine. 

My Freshman* 

To give up the joys of a quiet evening in 
company with a few kindred spirits, a box of 
Huyler's, and a big, delicious cake, and at the 
decree of a despotic Sophomore to invite a Fresh- 
man to the Sophomore reception, the night be- 
fore the event was to take place ; the thought 
was maddening ! Poor thing ! She had proba- 
bly decided long before that she was not to be 
invited, and was doubtless quite reconciled to the 
fact. How disgusted she would be to find that 
she had been allotted to an unsympathetic Junior ! 



276 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

Number ten was dark, but I knocked and 
waited a moment ; a match was scratched, then 
the door opened. 

A large girl with red hair, and eyes red, too, 
from homesick tears, I imagined, confronted 
me. " Is this Miss St. Clair ? " I asked. " Yes, 
ma'am," she answered. I had expected to wait 
so many years before being called ''ma'am," 
that I forgot what I had planned to say next, 
and asked, abruptly : " Would you like to go to 
the Sophomore reception with me.'"' "Yes, 
ma'am," came the answer again. This was 
very embarrassing, and if the Freshman had 
not broken the spell by asking me into her 
room, I think that I should have risked the 
wrath of the Sophomore, and added, "Well, I 
am very sorry, but I am afraid I cannot ask 
you to go with me." 

But after I had gone into her room, and told 
her all I knew about the reception, explaining 
when I would call for her, what my name was, 
and a few other necessary things, I felt very 
well acquainted. Yet when I was walking home, 
I could not think of a word she had said, except- 
ing, "No, ma'am" and "Yes, ma'am." Oh, 
yes ! Just as I was saying good night, she 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 277 

looked up in a most pathetic way and said, 
" You are the very first Sophomore to call on 
me." And to tell the truth, I was too new a 
Junior not to have that a blow to my pride. 

My touching tales of the homesick Freshman 
filled her programme very easily, and I reserved 
only the last two dances for myself. When the 
time for those came, I asked, '' Shall we dance } " 
" Oh, yes," was the answer, and then she added, 
in a burst of confidence, " This is the first time 
I ever tried to dance in my life, and I can dance 
real well now, it is so easy." My adventures 
during- that dance I am too kind-hearted to 
relate. While pinning up my skirt and attempt- 
ing to soothe my ruffled feelings, I suggested 
that we sit out the next dance and talk. 

It must have been near the end of the dance, 
when it suddenly dawned upon me that I had 
been doing all the talking, and it seemed only 
fair for her to begin, so I asked her about her 
plans for Mountain Day. 

" You are anticipating a perfectly delightful 
time to-morrow, I suppose V I asked. 

" Oh, yes." 

*' Are you going far } " 

*' Oh, no." 



278 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

" Are you going with a large party ? '* 

"Oh, no." 

" Where have you planned to go ? " 

" Nowhere." 

This was discouraging. A Freshman who 
could neither dance nor talk. I wondered what 
she could do. It was not until yesterday that I 
discovered. Walking home from chapel behind 
two Freshmen, I overheard the following con- 
versation : 

" Isn't Jessemine St. Clair a prod .'* " 

<' Well, I should say so ! She's the best 
basket-ball player in the Freshman Class, and 
you ought to see her vault the horse." 

" Who took her to the reception } " 

" Oh, some muff from the Junior Class, so 
Jessemine said." 

" Isn't she droll ? " 

E. s. s. 
Smith College Monthly. 

Founded on Fact* 

The Woman of the World sat at the piano. 
The Boy stood beside her, bending down to her. 
The Woman of the World was playing Schu- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 279 

mann. Her throat and arms gleamed like 
warm marble in the soft candlelight, and the 
effect against the shadow was very lovely. Pos- 
sibly the Woman of the World knew this. At 
any rate, she oughtn't to have allowed the Boy 
to stand there. Being a woman, she continued 
to allow him, but for a similar reason she com- 
promised with her conscience and changed 
abruptly from the Schumann to a passionless, 
jingling two-step. The sacrifice was heroic. 

" Why do you play that thing ? " asked the 
Boy. 

The Woman of the World made some answer. 
She wished she had no conscience and did not 
really like the Boy. He was big and muscular, 
with a face suggestive of all the cardinal virtues 
and Pear's soap. Lately there had come into 
his eyes a look that made her a little sorry. 
For she liked him, as has been said previously. 
The blow came before she had a chance to 
avert it. 

" Claudia," the Boy said, — it was the first time 
he had ever called her by her Christian name, 
and he said it with a bashful tenderness, — "I 
love you ; will you marry me ? " the Boy bent 
very low, almost touching her hair with his lips. 



280 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

There is always one subject that a man may 
be sure will interest a woman. There is always 
one statement that will not grow commonplace 
through frequent repetition. The love scenes 
are really the only ones in the comedy of life that 
most women enjoy acting for their own sake. 

But Claudia liked the Boy ; in fact, she liked 
him so well that she would have preferred put- 
ting her face on the cold white keys and crying ; 
women are nothing if not illogical. Instead of 
such a bit of melodramatic bad taste, she laughed 
softly without looking up. " How absurd ! " she 
said, as if he had made quite a clever remark — 
for a boy. 

" My dear child," her tone was motherly, " I 
am ages older than you, — quite five years. You 
would never cease regretting that you had mar- 
ried me. I should be old and worn before you 
were in your prime. No, you must find some 
one else, who will adore you and make you per- 
fectly happy, and I will come to see you to lend 
the dignity of age to your marriage." 

"You are heartless," said the Boy between 
his teeth. 

" Am I ? Well, I don't agree with you, and 
in a year you and she will thank me." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 28 1 

" I can never love any one else." 

" Quite the conventional remark under the 
circumstances. I should have felt quite hurt 
had you not said it. But it's nonsense all the 
same. Besides, I care for — some one else." 

She told the lie with no apparent struggle. 

He left her there in the shadow, still playing 
the noisy, blatantly cheerful two-step. He went 
too quickly to hear the music stop, with a sud- 
den crash, and to see her turn with wide-stretched 
arms, with her eyes like dewy stars shining 
through her tears. And perhaps it was well 
for him that he did not. 

Arthur Ketchum. 
Williams Literary Monthly. 

The Decision of a Moment. 

He had the reputation of being fickle. Per- 
haps he deserved it. There were those who 
said so. They had returned his ring. And 
there were those who did not say so. They 
hoped to wear his ring, for he was rich, hand- 
some, and popular. He had been engaged three 
times, and twice it had been broken off. True, 
it was the girl each time, but then "no girl 



282 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

could be expected to keep her engagement with 
such a — " and then the gossiping mothers 
would elevate their eyebrows, as much as to 
say, " Well, he would never have my daughter," 
just as if there were the ghost of a chance of 
his asking for her. 

He was spending the summer at Bar Harbour, 
and had just run over to the Waumbek in Jef- 
ferson to meet an old friend and get a little 
change of air for a fortnight or so. There, as 
everywhere, he became a leader, organised the 
coaching party for the Bethlehem parade, led 
the cotillon, and was the moving spirit of the 
place, until one unlucky day, toward the close of 
the fortnight, she appeared. 

Things changed. He who before had been 
so delightfully general in his attentions, now 
became pointedly specific. He was seen no 
more in his favourite haunts and company. He 
was her slave. She was rather tall, with a fine 
figure and a face remarkable not so much for 
beauty, which it had, as for expression, which 
it had perhaps to excess, and a pair of jet 
black eyes. Her eyes simply captured him 
and made him completely forget a little girl 
over in London, except when every other 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 283 

day he began " My darling," and ended " Your 
own ." 

But she knew nothing of this. And he — he 
could not or would not tell her. In the morn- 
ing they played tennis, in the afternoon they 
would stroll up Mt. Jefferson^ and see the sun 
set beneath the Franconian hills, away across 
the valley, and in the evening they would chat 
on the pretty colonial piazza and watch the 
moon rise over the Presidential Range. 

His two weeks lengthened into three, then 
into four, and four into six, and still he stayed. 
His chum, on leaving, warned him. 

" Pshaw," he answered, " not the slightest 
danger ; merely a Platonic friendship. Why, 
my dear fellow, you don't suppose that it could 
go any further ? " 

He said much more ; and his chum went 
away convinced that he would meet her on the 
Majestic as true as ever. But his words 
were stronger than his sense of duty, and his 
last night they had been later than ever before. 
The next morning he left, and she wore a new 
ring. 

At first he wrote every day, and then every 
other day. His foreign correspondence suffered. 



284 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

His letters followed her from Jefferson to Phila- 
delphia. She " was to be in New York soon on 
her way to Boston," she wrote. 

" Is that so ? She of course will not, no, she 
must not, cannot think that I — " He stopped 
and thought hard for some minutes. She had 
every right to think almost anything. 

As the time came nearer for the Majestic 
to sail, his letters across the water became more 
frequent, and his others less. He was getting 
worried. 

At last she landed. She had cabled him to 
meet her. He had seen the ship reported, and 
he had not gone. 

"There fnust have been a mistake," she said, 
and wired him, " Start for Rochester ten-thirty ; 
come." 

He received it in his den in the ''Granada." 
He had hardly read it when the maid brought 
another. 

<< Why have you not written 1 Leave for 
Boston ten-thirty-five. Meet me." 

It was now half-past nine. Plenty of time to 
catch either train. Which should it be.? He 
leaned over to his desk and took out two photo- 
graphs. They could not have been less alike; 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 285 

the first, a stunning girl, evidently very dark 
with a striking face, and eyes a bit too auda- 
cious ; the second small, evidently a blonde, with 
a calm, sweet face, and large, appealing eyes. 
He looked long at both and then at his watch. 
Still time. Which, which, which, went whirling 
through his brain. As he looked at one, he saw 
the whole past summer in a flash, at the other, 
a year's close intimacy and a summer's corre- 
spondence. Once again he thought, long and 

hard, and determined to take the train for 

Just time. Throwing one picture into the fire, 
he piled his traps into a valise, seized a hat, and 
ran. 

Philip Bissell. 

The Morningside. 

Girl Correspondents^ 

There was a kick on the door, and without 
further regard for conventionality my friend 
Philebrown entered. Philly should have lived 
in Bluebeard days, when the manly costume was 
a succession of bath-robe effects, his favourite 
apparel being of that nature. He trailed in a 
yard or two of that style of garment, settled 



286 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



himself before the fire, and having arranged his 
two sweaters, pensively smoked a cigarette. 

I kept silence. Philly is ductile, but he pre- 
fers to draw out himself, as it were. Questions 
at best are vulgar things, unless tactfully 
managed. 

" I've been looking over my letters," he 
burst out ; then with an air of philosophic 
research added, in a perfectly illogical way, 
" Girls are mighty queer, aren't they } " 

"They have been thought so by some men 
rather well up in that sort of thing, I believe, 
— there was Virgil and Shakespeare and — " 

"Oh, that's all right," broke in Philly, "but 
you know they didn't know the girls I know." 
This was such an overwhelming argument that 
I forebore to resume the discussion. I merely 
drew up my chair near to Philly and the fire, 
lighted my pipe and assumed a blandly solicit- 
ous air, which I flatter myself I do rather well. 

" Why is it that girls like to write to a fellow 
all the time } " he continued. " You do some- 
thing for them, they write back a note that 
seems to want an answer, and the first thing 
you know you are deep in a regular correspond- 
ence. I don't like it, — that is, not all the time." 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 287 

"There's that girl I met in the mountains 
last summer," he said, meditatively gazing into 
the coals ; " terribly nice girl, — the one that 
wears my Glee Club pin, you know. Got a letter 
from her to-night ; want to hear some of it ? " 

"Charmed, Philly," I answered. 

" Well, I guess there isn't much in it to read, 
— something here about a * sensitive conscience 
and a strong body' that I can't understand. 
What are you laughing at .? Then she talks 
about * heart-sickness,' and ends up in the usual 
way : * I am still remembering where I received 
a certain pin, wearing it more than semi-occasion- 
ally, and often — well, not trying to forget a 
certain Amherst student.' Funny, isn't it ? 

" Here's one from another girl I know, — 
says, ' Harold, your letters are such a comfort 
to me and help me, so be sure and write regu- 
larly' — never saw her but once. I answered 
and told her that father kept me busy mowing 
the lawn and I couldn't find time for much cor- 
respondence. That's the only thing to do with 
such girls. 

" Here's this — from a college girl I know. 

" ' Dear Harold : — Do write me one of 
your jolly, lovely letters ; they are so funny. 



288 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

I showed the last one to my roommate, who 
said, " Isn't that perfectly dear ! " So you see ' 
— Oh, Jove, I didn't mean to read that — " 

" Quite proper, Philly, my boy. It is fasci- 
nating ; pray continue." 

"Then there's the girl who insists on put- 
ting in questions that fuss a fellow awfully, you 
know, — says, ' Do you think me a very queer 
girl ? ' * I am a strange friend, am I not ? ' 
'We all say some things we ought not, what 
say you ? ' 

" Now, what is a fellow going to say to such 
things ? It is a mighty hard thing to answer, 
I tell you. The best thing you can do is to 
let those questions go, and tell her how sick 
your dog is, or how badly your golf stick is 
broken ; they don't really want answers, it's 
their nature to keep their pens full of interro- 
gation points." 

" Philly," said I, "you're a philosopher, there's 
no doubt of it." 

"Well," said Philly, as he languidly arose 
and flipped his cigarette into the fire, "it is 
hard to get along with the girls who want you 
to be a brother, and the girls who tell all the 
family secrets, and the girls who are heart- 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 289 

sick, and the girls who are regular sweethearts 

— sometimes I wish — " 

" No, no, Philly. No, you don't — the per- 
sonal equation, Philly, you know — " 

*' Hum ! " said Philly, as he slammed the 
door. 

Emery B. Pottle. 
Amherst Literary Monthly. 

Glimpses. 

From my window I watch men making bon- 
fires of the autumn leaves. They are burning 
my summer. A pile of red leaves kindle, and a 
day in the woods is gone. A relentless shower 
of yellow, a smouldering flame, a puff of smoke 

— that means a close day of mist-hidden sun 
and silver fog. A crackle of crisp brown boughs, 
and a bicycle trip flares away in an instant. So 
they vanish as the blue smoke rises and circles. 
Only a pile of sodden gray leaves left, too wet 
to burn, — the rainy days are mine to keep. 

M. E. c. 

The desk was very large, and the boy perched 
up beside it very small. His head was bent 



290 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

over the sheet of paper, and the pencil moved 
slowly and with great difficulty over its surface. 
I watched the brave efforts for some time from 
my seat by the window, then walked across the 
room and leaned over the tiny student. One 
chubby hand seized mine, and pressed it against 
a soft cheek, a pair of bright eyes looked con- 
fidingly up at me, an unconscious sigh came 
from the parted lips, and a baby voice said, 
sweetly, " Dear cousin Em'ly, this is the darned- 
est pencil I ever struck." 

E. B. c. 

Every morning, as I pass on my way to col- 
lege, she stands in the sunny window watering 
her flowers. I have never seen more than her 
head and arms, because the bank of foliage, 
green of all shades, rises about to her shoulders. 
The morning sun touches the soft gray hair, 
and brings into clear prominence, against the 
darkness of the room behind, the sweet grave- 
ness, almost solemnity, of the thin, old face. 
There is a calm preciseness about the way she 
raises the little red watering-pot that makes 
me feel as if the flowers were not living things 
to her, but a part of the day's duty. One day 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 29 1 

she went to smell a big geranium, and the sun 
reflecting in the brilliant colour, threw a sudden 
glow over her pale cheeks, and I saw when she 
raised her head that her face wore a tremulous 
smile. 

A. L. J. 

Radcliffe Magazine. 

A Christmas Dream* 

It was such an impossible dream. She knew 
perfectly well that it must be a dream, but there 
was something about it that made it so real. 
At first she thought she was really awake, and 
that there was some one standing among the 
curtains at the window. She had never been 
afraid in her life and she reached over — or rather 
dreamed she did — and pressed the electric but- 
ton. As the light sprang up, she saw that the 
figure at the window was Jack's, and Jack was 
really away off in Africa, so it was quite impos- 
sible. It was very plainly a dream. 

Jack was standing quite still, tugging at his 
riding-gloves. It was remarkable how natural 
it seemed, except that people don't wear khaki 
uniforms and pith helmets in London at Christ- 



29: 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 



mas time. Finally he said : " I suppose I 
shouldn't be here, you know." He was as much 
confused as if it were all real. 

" I suppose you shouldn't," she said, laugh- 
ing a little, " but it is all a dream, you see, and 
that makes all the difference in the world." 

*' Oh, yes," said Jack, "of course." 

He came forward rather uncertainly and laid 
his gloves on the footboard of the bed. 

'' You see," he said, hesitatingly, <* I've got 
something to tell you, Mildred, something rather 
queer, I'm afraid." He gave his head a little 
twist, as he always used to when he was nervous. 

She laughed again. "Is it a story ? " she 
asked. " I don't remember ever hearing a dream 
story. I hope it will be entertaining." 

It was very rude of him not to smile, even 
though he was not real. He stood twisting his 
pith helmet rather awkwardly in his hands, look- 
ing at it so seriously. She hoped it was not 
going to turn out to be a bad dream. 

" You see," he began, " I belong over in 
Africa by rights. By all natural courses I should 
be there now. It's an absurd thing for a man 
to be in Matabele-land one hour, and in London 
the next, isn't it .? " 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 293 

"Oh," she said, cheerfully, "they do all sorts 
of queer things in dreams, you know." 

" So they do," said Jack, frowning into his 
helmet. 

Through the window a faint suggestion of 
dawn was creeping. It was almost Christmas 
morning. 

"This is the way it is," said Jack. "An 
hour or so ago I was in the bush with half a 
company. It was dark, and the darkness of the 
bush is something that is full of strange things 
you can't imagine. Some of the men were 
sleeping behind their little thorn rampart, and 
others were watching." He raised his eyes, 
and looked about him for a moment. 

" They are there now — sleeping and watch- 
ing, and I am here," he said. 

She was leaning forward now, listening 
intently. 

" I suppose I may as well be plain," he went 
on. " Outside of the thorns it is all black, and 
all around us in the blackness lie sand and bush, 
and two regiments of Zulus. When the day 
breaks they will wake up and begin to sing, 
and their white shields will be a wide, low ring, 
that will stretch north and south and east and 



294 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

west without a gap. That will be our Christ 
mas morning." She shivered a little as he 
paused. 

Somewhere a clock ticked regularly. 

"When it is light enough," he said, slowly, 
" they will begin to move forward, singing still, 
and coming faster and faster. Presently the 
air will be humming with spears." He stopped, 
and looked up for a moment. 

<^That is all," he said, finally. 

"Oh, Jack!" she cried, regretfully, "it is a 
bad dream, after all." 

" Of course it is a dream," he said. " If it 
were anything else I would not be here to say 
good-bye to you. Perhaps it is just my dream 
alone, and when the men wake me at dawn, 
I may be the only one to remember. But you 
look so real to me, Mildred, almost as if it were 
no dream at all, that I wonder whether you will 
not remember, too. I don't know how I can 
express it — it seems so strange." He paused 
as if at a loss for words. "Awhile ago," he 
said, "I dreamed that I was walking in Bel- 
gravia. It was there I first saw you, wasn't it ? " 
She nodded silently. " It seemed good to be in 
London again," he went on, "after the dirt and 



I 



CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 295 

work out there in the hot, dangerous thickets. 
It struck me as very pleasant." 

The dawn was grayer at the windows. 

''Presently I came to your house," he said, 
" and I knew it would be my last chance to see 
you, even in a dream." He turned quickly, and 
looked toward the growing light. " It's day- 
break ! " he whispered. " Listen ! " No sound 
but the clock ticking in the room. 

"It is the singing," he said, quietly. "Do 
you hear it } " There was no sound. " Good- 
bye," he said, more swiftly. " In a moment 
they will be waking me." She did not stir. 

*'It is a dream," she kept whispering to her- 
self. " It is a dream." 

" I have come so far for one word," he said, 
almost bitterly, " and now — " 

She threw aside the quilted covers, and ran 
forward. 

" Jack ! Jack ! " she cried. 

The room was empty. She felt now that she 
was awake, but a strange, dull murmur, like the 
low singing of hundreds of voices, was in her 
ears. Then, suddenly, it was gone, and she 
looked slowly toward the bed. What she saw 
there turned her pale with a nameless fear, for 



296 CAP AND GOWN IN PROSE 

on the footboard lay two stained and yellow 
riding-gloves. 

Outside in the morning air the Christmas 
chimes were ringing. 

Princeton Tizer. 

o 



THE END. 



CONTRIBUTORS. 



Adams, H. M., 185. 
Andrews, E. P., 2. 

Barker, George Russell, 4. 
Barker, John, 88. 
Barr, Joseph W., 92. 
Bennis, F. V., 26, 122. 
Bissell, Philip, 281. 
Burling, Fanny Crawford, 247. 
Burrell, David de F., 164. 

Camp, Samuel G., 134. 
Canby, Henry Seidel, g4, 168. 
Carleton, Philip Greenleaf, 97. 
Carryl, Guy Wetmore, 265. 
Clark, C. W., 178. 
Coolidge, H. F., 253. 

Duer, Alice, 258. 

Easton, William Hastings, 44. 

Fisher, Mary H., 237. 

Gallaher, Grace Margaret, 123. 
Gambrall, Louisa B., 152. 
Goodwillie, Arthur Lawson, 261. 
Gowdy, John, 85. 



Gregson, Jr., John, 239. 

Hamilton, J. R., 127. 
Holland, Rupert S., 115. 
Hooker, Richard, 62. 
Hopford, J. W., 139. 
Huntress, H. P., 78. 

Johnston, C. H. L., 193. 
Judkins, Charles Otis, 187, 252. 

Ketch um, Arthur, 278. 

King, Georgiana Goddard, 72. 

Leonard, J., 208. 
Loeb, Oscar, 190. 

Martin, Harriet Goodrich, 147. 

Mason, Roy M., 53. 

Moulton, Sherman Roberts, 272. 

Oakman, John Saunders, 263. 

Parker, J. M., iii. 
Pottle, Emery B., 14, 285. 

Ray, Maude Louise, 50. 
Robbins, Leonard H., 117, 



297 



298 



CONTRIBUTORS 



Rogers, R. T., 58, 74. 

Seasongood, Murray, 227. 
Snow, Edwin, 224. 
Stahlnecker, H. Wilson, 80, 

Thompson, John A., 48, 222, 231, 
Throop, Lillian S., 166. 
Tryon, James Owen, 103. 



Truman, Percival Henry, 243. 

Van Horn, F. M., igs. 

Wales, James Albert, 35. 
Watson, Thomas, 200. 
Wilder, Florence E., 65. 
Wildman, Marian Warner, 270. 



INITIALS, Etc. 



A., 141. 
A. A., 182. 
A. L. J., 2go. 
E. B. C, 289. 
E. H. B., igg. 
E. M. T., 246. 

E. S. S., 27s. 

F. A. L., 104. 
H., 220. 

H. D. G., 158. 
H. T. P., 183. 
I. L. v., 214. 
J. M., 8. 
K. E. H., 43. 
K. M. D., ISO. 
L. C. G., 172. 



L. S. B., 262. 

L. V. N. M., 163. 

M. B. M., 274. 

M. E, C, 290, 

"Mem. '00," 180. 

P. B., 107. 

P. R. C., 156. 

T., 233. 

W., 205. 

Unsigned, i, 7, 11, 13, 17, 20, 23, 
29) 30, 39, 40, 41, 57, 61, 67, 
6g, 71, 88, loi, 105, no, i2g, 
132, 133, 137, 142, 144, 150, 
151, 161, 17S, 177, 204, 212, 
217, 23s, 236, 251, 258, 291. 



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